The  Bachelor's  Christmas 
and  The  Matrimonial 
Tontine  Benefit  Associa- 
tion. By  Robert  Grant 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  cccccc  1902 


Copyright,  1895,  7902, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


THE    BACHELOR'S 
CHRISTMAS 


76Z 
B3 
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THE    BACHELOR'S 
CHRISTMAS 


THOMAS  WIGGIN,  or  Tom  Wiggin,  as 
everyone  called  him,  sat  alone  in  his 
bachelor  quarters  on  Christmas-eve,  waiting 
for  a  carriage.  The  carriage  was  not  late,  but 
Tom,  who  was  a  methodical  man  in  everything 
he  did,  had  finished  his  preparations  a  little 
sooner  than  need  be.  His  fur  coat  and  hat 
and  gloves  lay  on  a  chair  beside  him,  ready 
to  put  on  the  moment  Bridget,  the  maid, 
should  knock  at  the  door  and  tell  him  that 
Perkins,  the  cabby  at  the  corner,  was  block- 
ing the  way.  Tom  had  already  taken  out  of 
his  pocket  two  ten-dollar  gold  pieces  and 
laid  them  on  the  centre-table  beside  an  array 
of  packages  done  up  with  marvellous  care  in 
the  whitest  of  paper  and  the  reddest  of  rib- 
bon. One  of  the  gold  pieces  was  for  Bridget 
and  the  other  for  Perkins.  Twice  the  sum 


4  THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

would  not  have  replaced  the  crockery  and 
objects  of  virtu  which  the  Hibernian  hand- 
maiden, who  brought  up  his  breakfast  and 
was  supposed  to  keep  his  room  tidy,  had 
smashed  since  he  had  tipped  her  last ;  and 
Tom  had,  only  two  months  before,  under- 
gone the  melancholy  experience  of  falling 
through  the  bottom  of  Perkins's  coupe,  be- 
cause of  the  pertinacity  with  which  that 
common  carrier  of  passengers  clung  to  the 
delusion  that  no  repairs  to  a  vehicle  were 
necessary  until  it  dropped  to  pieces.  But  as 
Tom  would  have  said  if  interrogated  on  the 
subject  by  a  subtler  mind,  Christmas  comes 
but  once  a  year,  and  though  Bridget's  best 
was  her  worst,  she  had  tried  to  do  it,  and 
Perkins,  shiftless  as  he  was,  had  driven  his 
poor  old  nag  one  day  into  a  pink  lather  in 
endeavoring  to  catch  a  train  for  him,  which 
he  had  just  missed  after  all. 

Besides,  Tom  had  had  a  remarkably  good 
business  year,  so  that  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece 
did  not  seem  to  him  the  dazzlingly  large  sum 
he  had  regarded  it  ten  years  earlier.  Efo 
had  lived  in  these  same  bachelor  lodgings 
for  ten  years,  and  during  that  time  had  built 
up  a  very  neat  business  by  his  own  unaided 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS          5 

effort,  as  his  contemporaries  (and  contempo- 
raries are  apt  to  be  stern  critics)  were  ready 
to  admit.  He  had  worked  hard  and  steadily, 
taking  only  enough  vacation  to  enable  him 
to  keep  well,  and  shunting  everything  to  the 
background  which  threatened  to  interfere 
with  the  object  he  had  in  view — that  is, 
everything  but  one  thing.  And  this  one 
thing  he  had  made  up  his  mind  five  years  ago 
was  out  of  the  question.  Consequently  he 
had  shunted  it  to  the  background  with  every- 
thing else,  and  devoted  himself  more  unre- 
servedly than  ever  to  the  real  estate  busi- 
ness. 

Ten  years  is  quite  a  piece  out  of  any  man's 
life,  and  though  Tom  Wiggin  was  the  picture 
of  health,  he  was,  as  we  say  colloquially,  no 
longer  a  chicken.  He  was  stouter  than  he 
had  been  and  had  lost  some  of  his  hair, 
which  gave  him  rather  a  middle-aged  appear- 
ance, or  at  least  suggested  that  he  never 
would  see  thirty-five  again.  When  he  had 
taken  his  present  room  he  had  been  a  slim 
and  almost  delicate-looking  stripling  without 
a  copper,  whom  any  girl  might  be  likely  to 
fancy.  To-day,  in  his  own  estimation  and  in 
that  of  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  he  was 


6  THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

a  well -seasoned  old  bachelor  who  was  not 
likely  to  ask  any  one  feminine  to  share  his 
comfortable  competency. 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year,  and  Tom 
had  for  several  years  past  been  in  the  habit 
of  recognizing  the  fact  in  his  special  way.  He 
was  extensively  an  uncle.  That  is  to  say,  he 
had  two  married  sisters,  one  with  five  and  the 
other  with  three  children  of  tender  age,  and 
each  of  his  two  married  brothers  had  present- 
ed him  with  a  nephew  and  niece  of  the  name 
of  Wiggin.  Categorically  speaking,  he  had 
seven  nephews  and  five  nieces  to  provide 
with  Christmas  gifts,  not  to  mention  his  two 
sisters  and  his  two  sisters-in-law,  all  of 
whom  had  grown  accustomed  to  expect  a 
package  in  white  paper  tied  with  pink  rib- 
bon and  marked  "with  love  and  a  merry 
Christmas  from  Tom."  Here  were  sixteen 
presents  to  begin  with,  and  there  were  apt  to 
be  almost  as  many  more.  On  this  particular 
Christmas  evening  there  were  thirty-five  par- 
cels in  all,  each  done  up  with  immaculate 
care,  for  Tom,  like  most  other  bachelors, 
prided  himself  on  doing  everything  in  a  thor- 
ough, deliberate  fashion.  He  had  made  his 
last  purchase  a  fortnight  ago,  and  had  spent 


THE  BACHELORS  CHRISTMAS  7 

two  entire  evenings  in  putting  the  array  of 
toys  and  fancy  goods  in  presentable  order. 
They  were  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  for  Tom 
had  paled  neither  before  bulk  nor  price. 
There  was  a  safety  bicycle  for  a  nephew  who 
had  set  his  heart  on  one,  and  the  tiniest  of 
gold  watches  for  his  eldest  niece.  There  was 
a  warm,  fur-lined  cloak  for  his  dead  mother's 
oldest  friend,  a  spinster  lady  who  had  small 
means  wherewith  to  keep  herself  comfortable 
in  a  cold  world,  and  a  case  of  marvellous  port 
for  his  old  chum,  Belden,  who  would  see 
that  it  was  not  wasted  on  unappreciative 
palates.  Everything  was  ready  for  the  sum- 
mons from  Perkins,  the  cabby,  and  Tom, 
bald-headed  bachelor  that  he  was,  was  fum- 
ing a  little  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  still 
lacked  three  minutes  of  the  hour  appointed 
for  departure. 

The  clock  in  the  neighboring  church  tower, 
whose  tones  were  plainly  audible  in  the  sky 
parlors  which  he  called  his  home,  had  only 
just  struck  five  when  the  tramp  of  feet  fol- 
lowed by  a  knock  announced  the  joint  arrival 
of  Bridget  and  Perkins,  to  whom  he  had  in- 
trusted the  duty  of  helping  him  to  carry  his 
precious  parcels  down  three  flights  of  stairs 


8  THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

to  the  attendant  cab.  This  was  the  sixth 
consecutive  year  Bridget  and  Perkins  had 
done  the  same  thing,  and  they  thought  they 
knew  what  to  expect.  But  they  had  count- 
ed without  their  host.  A  year  ago  they 
had  chuckled  for  forty-eight  hours  over  a 
five-dollar  bill  apiece.  Now,  when  they 
opened  the  door  and  presented  their  grin- 
ning countenances,  their  benefactor,  after 
shouting  at  them  a  merry  Christmas,  pro- 
ceeded to  daze  their  intellects,  of  every  par- 
ticle of  which  they  stood  in  sore  need  for  the 
purpose  of  a  safe  descent,  by  tossing  to  each 
of  them  a  gold  coin  of  twice  the  denomina- 
tion. For  some  moments  they  stood  in  be- 
wildered, sheepish  silence,  examining  their 
treasure,  as  though  to  make  certain  it  was 
genuine ;  then  Bridget,  taxing  her  intelli- 
gence for  a  suitable  expression  for  the  wealth 
of  feeling  at  her  heart,  exclaimed  : 

"  And  sure,  Mr.  Wiggin,  it's  Bridget  Lan- 
agan  that's  hoping  that  before  the  good  Lord 
brings  anither  Christmas-day  the  proudest 
lady  in  the  land  will  be  yer  wife.  It's  me 
and  Perkins  would  be  the  first  to  say  '  God 
bless  her,'  though  we  lost  a  good  job  by  it." 
At  this  prodigal  outburst  of  expectation  Tom 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS  9 

Wiggin's  countenance  grew  rosy -red,  notwith- 
standing the  incredulous  laugh  with  which  he 
received  the  blessing  of  his  warm-hearted 
handmaiden  and  the  nods  of  the  less  nimble- 
witted  cab-man.  Then  a  shadow  crossed  it 
as  though  of  unhappy  recollection,  and  there 
was  a  tinge  of  real  hopelessness  in  his  half- 
jocular  protestation. 

"  Many  thanks,  Bridget,  for  your  good 
wishes,  but  there's  no  such  luck  in  store  for 
me.  I  shall  live  and  die  an  old  bachelor 
such  as  you  see  me  now,  and  you  and  Perkins 
will  be  able  to  count  on  a  ten-dollar  gold 
piece  on  Christmas-eve  for  the  rest  of  your 
lives.  That  is,"  Tom  added  by  way  of  timely 
warning,  "  provided  you  don't  smash  any  of 
these  things  of  mine  in  carrying  them  down- 
stairs. You  remember  that  the  pair  of  you 
last  year  between  you  broke  a  teacup  worth 
its  weight  in  gold,  and  the  year  before  that 
large  vase  broke  itself.  If  everything  were 
to  go  down  safely  I  should  almost  begin  to 
believe  that  what  Bridget  hopes  might  come 
true.  Careful  now,  and  be  sure  not  to  lay 
that  bicycle  right  on  top  of  the  gilt-edged 
dinner-plates  for  my  sister  Mary." 

Whether  it  was  that  Tom's  strictures  in  re« 


10         THE  BACHELORS  CHRISTMAS 

gard  to  the  clumsiness  of  his  assistants  were 
exaggerated,  or  they  were  bent  on  causing 
him  to  repose  trust  in  Bridget's  prophecy,  the 
thirty -five  packages  reached  the  cab  and  were 
stowed  within  and  without,  under  their  owner's 
supervising  eye,  without  a  single  casualty. 

"  Faith,  Mr.  Wiggin,  they'll  be  taking  yer 
this  time  for  Santa  Claus,  sure,"  said  Perkins 
when  the  last  precious  parcel  had  been  de- 
posited. "  Yer'll  have  to  ride  outside,  sir,  as 
yer  did  last  year." 

Evidently  the  gaping  file  of  small  boys 
which  had  formed  itself  on  each  side  of  the 
doorway  was  of  the  opinion  that,  if  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  fur  coat  was  not  Santa  Claus, 
he  was  one  of  his  blood-relations,  for,  as  Tom 
climbed  carefully  to  his  post  beside  Perkins 
BO  as  not  to  hazard  the  safety  of  the  bicycle 
and  the  box  of  port,  for  which  there  was  no 
room  inside,  they  broke  out  into  a  shrill 
hurrah.  Perhaps  they  too,  or  at  least  some 
of  them,  knew  what  they  had  to  expect,  for 
before  Santa  Claus  seated  himself  on  the 
box  he  plunged  his  hands  into  the  side  pock- 
ets of  his  fur  overcoat,  and  then  reproducing 
them,  seemed  to  toss  them  high  to  the  winds, 
as  he  cried,  with  gay  good- will : 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        11 

"  Scramble  now,  you  little  devils,  scramble, 
and  wish  you  merry  Christmas  !  " 

What  Tom  flung  to  the  winds  was  neither 
his  fingers  nor  his  thumbs,  but  a  plethora  of 
bright  nickels  which  he  had  drawn  from  the 
bank  for  the  express  purpose.  As  the  glitter- 
ing shower  of  brand-new  five-cent  pieces  fell 
to  the  icy  sidewalk,  the  band  of  urchins 
threw  themselves  upon  it  with  a  shout  of 
transport  which  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of 
the  tender-hearted  Bridget,  who  had  re- 
mained to  witness  this  established  ceremony, 
and  ought  to  have  warmed  the  cockles  of  the 
donor's  heart,  if  indeed  they  needed  warm- 
ing. Twice  again  he  replunged  his  hands  in- 
to his  pockets  and  twice  again  the  yell  was 
repeated.  Then  seating  himself  beside  Per- 
kins, Tom  gave  the  signal  for  departure,  and 
as  the  cab  rounded  the  corner  a  score  of  little 
lungs  gavo  him  back  his  merry  Christmas 
with  all  their  might. 

It  was  a  genuine  Christmas-eve.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  snow  and  the 
sleigh-bells  were  jangling  merrily.  The  lamps 
were  already  lighted,  and  many  a  parlor  win- 
dow gave  out  the  reflection  of  wreaths  of 
holly,  and  now  and  again  sparkled  with  little 


12         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

rows  of  candles  in  token  of  the  precious 
Christmas  anniversary.  Perkins's  coupe  was 
on  wheels,  and  his  equine  paradox  was  im- 
perfectly caulked  into  the  bargain,  so  that 
the  world  seemed  to  be  rushing  by  them  as 
they  jogged  along.  Tom  had  a  list  which  he 
from  time  to  time  consulted  by  the  allied 
light  of  the  moon  and  the  street-lamps,  in 
order  to  see  that  his  itinerary  was  accurately 
followed  and  no  one  forgotten.  At  every 
house  he  dismounted  in  person  and  handed 
in  his  present.  When  he  reached  the  resi- 
dence of  his  sister,  Mary  Ferris,  who  was  the 
mother  of  the  five  children,  he  had  to  make 
four  trips  up  and  down  the  door-steps.  His 
sister,  who  was  listening,  recognized  his  voice 
and  came  into  the  vestibule  to  meet  him,  and 
her  children,  bounding  in  her  wake  like  an 
elated  pack  of  wolves,  shouted  with  one 
tongue, 

"  Hurrah  !  it's  Uncle  Tom." 

Mrs.  Ferris  sent  them  scampering  upstairs 
in  double-quick  time  on  pain  of  dire  penal- 
ties if  they  peeped  or  listened,  and  fondly 
drew  her  brother  into  the  small  sitting-room 
which  opened  out  of  the  hall. 

"  I  can't  stop,  Mary,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  on  my 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        13 

annual  circuit.  Now  let's  see  if  I've  got 
everything.  Here's  the  bicycle  for  Roger, 
junior.  They  call  it  '  a  safety,'  and  I  trust  it 
may  prove  so.  And  the  Noah's  ark,  the  larg- 
est one  made,  for  Harry ;  and  a  musical  box, 
which  plays  eight  tunes,  for  Dorothy  ;  and  a 
doll  which  sings  '  Ta-ra-boom-de-ay '  for  lit- 
tle Mary  ;  and  a  woolly  lamb  for  baby  Ned. 
And  here's  a  trifle  in  the  crockery  line  for 
you,  my  dear.  If  you  don't  like  the  pattern 
you  can  change  them.  Now  I  must  be  off. 
How's  Eoger,  senior?  Give  him  my  love 
and  a  merry  Christmas." 

"He'll  be  at  home  very  soon,  Tom,  and 
dreadfully  sorry  to  have  missed  you.  The 
children  are  just  crazy  about  their  stockings, 
and  little  Roger  had  given  up  all  hope  of  a 
bicycle.  You  are  too  generous  to  them  and 
to  all  of  us.  And,  oh,  Tom,"  she  added,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  I  feel  dread- 
fully that  we  shan't  have  you  with  us  at  din- 
ner to-morrow,  but  old  Mr.  Ferris  depends 
on  Roger  and  me  for  Christmas.  He  says 
it  may  be  the  last  time,  and  that  Christ- 
mas is  the  Ferris  day.  Thanksgiving  is  the 
Wiggin  day,  you  know,  and  we  did  have  a 
jolly  time  then ;  yet  I  just  hate  to  think  of 


14         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

your  not  dining  with  one  of  us  on  Christmas. 
How  can  it  be  helped,  though,  if  all  the 
things-in-law  have  family  parties  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  all  right,  Mary.  As  you  say, 
Thanksgiving  is  the  Wiggin  day,  and  things- 
in-law  have  rights,  as  well  as  those  they 
marry.  Merry  Christmas,  dearest,  and  let 
me  go,  or  I  shall  never  get  through  my  list." 

"  Ah,  but,  Tom  love,  I  do  wish  you  were 
married,"  she  cried,  putting  her  arms  around 
his  neck  to  detain  him.  She  was  his  favor- 
ite sister,  and  free  to  introduce  dangerous 
topics  with  due  discretion.  "  You  would  be 
so  much  happier." 

"  Do  I  seem  so  miserable  ?  "  he  inquired, 
as  he  looked  down  at  her  and  stroked  her 
hair.  "That's  an  old  story,  Mary.  I've 
heard  you  express  the  same  wish  every  six 
months  for  the  last  ten  years.  Every  family 
should  have  one  old  bachelor,  at  least,  and  I 
shall  be  ours." 

She  was  silent  for  an  instant.  "  Do  you 
ever  see  Isabelle  Hardy,  nowadays  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  brave  insistence.  "  I  have  some- 
times thought  " — she  stopped,  deterred  from 
completing  her  sentence  by  the  shadow  which 
had  come  over  Tom's  face. 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        15 

He  gently,  but  firmly,  removed  his  sister's 
arms  from  his  neck,  and  answered  gravely, 
almost  stiffly,  "  Very  rarely  indeed."  Then, 
with  a  fresh  access  of  gayety,  as  though  he 
were  resolved  that  nothing  foreign  to  the  oc- 
casion should  mar  its  spirit,  he  cried  lustily, 
"  A  merry  Christmas  to  you,  Mary ! "  and  de- 
parted. 

Continuing  steadily  on  his  round,  Tom  de- 
livered safely  the  case  of  port,  and  the  fur- 
lined  cloak,  and  brought  up  in  the  next  street, 
in  front  of  his  brother  Joe's  house.  Here 
he  was  to  leave  the  gold  watch  for  his  eldest 
niece,  a  generous  box  of  bonbons  for  his  sis- 
ter-in-law, a  tool-chest  for  young  Joe,  and  a 
first  edition  of  "  Vanity  Fair  "  for  Joe  him- 
self, who,  though  not  particularly  well  off, 
was  a  rabid  book  collector.  Tom  had  dogged 
an  auctioneer  for  two  days  to  make  sure  of 
obtaining  the  volume  in  question,  which,  so 
far  as  he  could  see,  was  like  as  two  peas  to 
the  subsequent  issues  of  the  same  book  to 
be  bought  anywhere  for  a  song.  He  was 
convinced  of  his  mistake  when  he  saw  his 
brother's  face  light  up  at  sight  of  the  treas- 
ure-trove and  heard  his  delighted  inquiry, 
"  Where  on  earth  did  you  pick  this  up,  Tom? 


16         THE  BACHELORS  CHRISTMAS 

You  couldn't  have  given  me  anything  I'd 
rather  have." 

"  Glad  you  like  it,  Joe.  If  it  isn't  the  real 
thing,  I'll  have  the  hide  of  that  fellow,  Nev- 
ins,  who  sold  it  to  me." 

"  The  real  thing  ?  It's  a  genuine  first  edi- 
tion and  a  splendid  specimen.  It's  adorable. 
I  say,  old  fellow,  it's  an  outrage  that  we're 
to  dine  with  Julia's  father  to-morrow  and 
leave  you  out  in  the  cold.  Another  year  I 
mean  to  strike  and  have  a  Wiggin  Christmas 
dinner,  Thanksgiving  or  no  Thanksgiving. 
Mary  and  I  were  comparing  notes  yesterday, 
and  vowing  it  was  an  infernal  shame." 

"  Now,  it's  all  right  as  it  is,  Joe.  I've  just 
left  Mary,  and  I  understand  perfectly.  You've 
got  enough  to  do  to  digest  your  father-in- 
law's  mince  pie  and  Madeira  without  having 
me  on  your  stomach." 

"A  regular  old-fashioned  ten-course  feed, 
where  you  sit  down  at  seven  and  get  up  at 
half -past  ten  feeling  like  lead.  Ugh !  Where 
are  you  going  to  dine,  Tom  ?  " 

"No  matter.  That's  my  secret.  I  shall 
have  a  good  dinner,  never  you  fear.  I  must 
be  off  now  and  deliver  the  rest  of  my  goods." 

"It's  an  outrage — an  infernal    outrage," 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         17 

growled  Joe.  "  Before  you  go,  old  man,"  he 
said,  hooking  his  arm  into  his  brother's,  and 
dragging  him  in  the  direction  of  the  dining- 
room,  "  we'll  have  a  drink.  I  put  a  pint  of 
fizz  on  the  ice  this  morning  for  your  special 
benefit.  It  won't  take  two  minutes  to  mix 
the  cock-tail."  Thereupon  Joe  gave  the 
bell-handle  a  wrench,  and  directed  that  the 
bottle  in  the  ice-chest  should  be  brought  up 
together  with  the  cracked  ice  which  he  had 
ordered  to  be  in  readiness,  and  in  a  very 
short  space  of  time  the  white-capped  maid 
reappeared  with  a  waiter  laden  with  all  the 
necessary  ingredients  for  the  delectable  bev- 
erage in  question.  Joe  carefully  measured 
out  some  bitters,  pop  went  the  cork  of  the 
Perrier  Jouet,  and  presently  the  brothers 
were  looking  at  each  other  over  two  brim- 
ming glasses. 

"  Wish  you  merry  Christmas,  Joe." 
"Wish  you  merry  Christmas,  Tom.  And 
here's  to  her."  Joe  paused  an  instant  before 
he  drank  to  add,  "  It's  a  big  mistake  you're 
not  married,  Tom.  All  I  can  say  is  some 
girl  is  losing  a  first-class  husband.  I  say 
here's  to  her" 

Tom,  who  had  waited  at  the  words,  raised 
2 


18         TEE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

his  glass  solemnly.  "  There  is  no  her  and 
there  never  will  be,"  he  said,  with  quiet  de- 
cision. "  Still,  since  you  give  the  toast,  Joe, 
I'll  drink  it.  It's  not  poisonous,"  he  added, 
with  a  wry  smile — "  so  here's  to  her."  He 
drained  his  glass  and  set  it  down  on  the 
waiter,  then  for  an  instant  stood  ruminantly 
with  his  back  to  the  open  fire.  "  The  drink 
was  better  than  the  toast  in  my  case,  Joe. 
My  her  must  have  died  in  infancy." 

"  Honest  Injun,  Tom  ?  "  asked  Joe,  as  he 
gripped  his  brother's  hand  held  out  for  a 
parting  shake  and  looked  into  his  face. 

Tom's  eyes  quailed  before  the  honest  gaze. 
His  lip  quivered.  "  I'm  an  infernal  liar,  Joe, 
and  you  know  it.  But  what's  the  use  ?  She 
wouldn't  have  me,  man — and  there's  no  one 
else  whom  I  want  to  have.  So,  merry  Christ- 
mas, Joe,  and  God  bless  you  and  yours." 

As  he  went  out  into  the  frosty  night  the 
clock  in  the  hall  struck  half -past  six.  There 
were  only  five  parcels  left  and  the  coupe  was 
nearly  empty.  Tom  opened  the  door  and 
stepping  inside,  lay  back  wearily.  Present- 
ly he  picked  up  one  of  the  parcels — it  was  a 
book  apparently,  from  its  shape — and  laid  it 
at  his  side.  When  Perkins  drew  up  the  next 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        19 

time,  Tom  gathered  up  the  remaining  four 
and  ran  up  the  steps  with  them.  They  were 
for  his  sister  Kitty  and  her  little  company, 
and  he  spent  a  few  moments  indoors  to  ex- 
plain matters.  When  he  reappeared  he  said 
to  his  conductor,  "114  Farragut  Place,  and 
then  to  the  Club." 

Tom  sat  inside  with  the  remaining  package 
resting  on  his  lap,  nervously  watching  for  the 
cab  to  stop.  They  halted  presently  before  a 
spacious  house,  the  old-fashioned  aspect  of 
which  was  heightened  by  the  curved  iron 
railing  which  ran  along  the  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  it.  Just  before  the  cab  stopped 
Tom  had  taken  a  note  from  his  breast  pocket, 
and,  after  looking  round  him  stealthily  in  the 
darkness,  had  kissed  the  envelope.  Now  he 
tucked  it  under  the  red  ribbon  of  the  remain- 
ing package,  and  walking  gravely  up  the 
steps,  rang  the  bell.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  envelope  but  his  visiting  card,  on  which 
he  had  written,  "  with  best  wishes  for  a  merry 
Christmas."  When  the  servant  came  to  the 
door  Tom  said,  "  Will  you  please  give  this  to 
Miss  Isabelle  Hardy."  Then  the  door  closed 
in  his  face  and  he  went  solemnly  down  the 
steps  again.  On  reaching  the  now  empty 


20         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

cab  lie  glanced  over  his  shoulder  as  though 
in  hope  of  catching  a  face  at  the  window,  but 
every  shade  was  down,  and  the  wreaths  of 
holly  were  the  nearest  semblance  to  faces, 
and  they  seemed  almost  to  grin  at  him.  And 
well  they  might.  It  was  the  fifth  year  in 
succession  that  he  had  gone  through  exactly 
this  same  pantomime.  Tom  heaved  one 
deep  sigh ;  then  he  straightened  his  shoul- 
ders and  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  as 
though  he  were  sweeping  away  an  unprofit- 
able vision. 

"  To  the  club,"  he  repeated  sturdily  to 
Perkins.  "  And  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  shrouded  himself  in  his  fur  coat  and  put 
up  his  feet  on  the  opposite  cushion,  "  the 
question  is  how  to  make  the  best  of  a  devil- 
ish poor  outlook.  I  mean  to  have  a  merry 
Christmas  somehow." 


n 

THOUGH  it  was  dinner  time,  there  were  few 
men  in  the  club  when  Tom  entered  it.  Still 
there  was  a  half-dozen  familiar  spirits  loung- 
ing in  the  sitting-room,  most  melancholy 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        21 

among  whom  was  Frazer  Bell,  a  bachelor  far 
gone  in  the  forties,  an  epicure,  but  poor  as  a 
church  mouse. 

"  Just  the  man,"  said  Tom  to  himself,  and 
he  drew  him  aside. 

"Will  you  dine  with  me  to-night, Frazer?" 

"  Er — I  have  just  ordered  dinner,  but " 

"Then  I'll  countermand  it,"  interposed 
Tom  blithely,  by  way  of  relieving  his  would- 
be  guest  from  the  quandary  of  accepting  the 
invitation  without  loss  of  self-respect.  "  It's 
Christmas-eve  and  this  is  my  outfit ;  I'm  go- 
ing in  for  as  good  a  dinner  as  they  can  give 
us  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  I  say,  old  man, 
will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  order  it  ?  You 
know  fifty  times  better  than  I  what  we  ought 
to  have  to  get  the  best." 

Frazer  Bell  grinned  melodiously.  One 
could  almost  see  his  mouth  water. 

"  I'll  do  it  if  you  like,"  he  said. 

"  I  wish  you  would.  And  be  sure  to  put 
down  the  finest  there  is,  and  to  pick  out 
something  gilt-edged  in  the  way  of  wine ; 
something  cobwebby  and  precious." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Frazer,  with  another  grin, 
and  he  ambled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  of- 
fice. 


22         THE  BACHELORS  CHRISTMAS 

Tom  went  into  the  reading-room  and 
picked  up  a  magazine.  Presently  he  passed 
his  hands  across  his  eyes  again,  for  the 
wreaths  in  the  windows  of  the  house  in  Far- 
ragut  Place  were  grinning  at  him  still.  He 
said  to  himself  that  he  guessed  he  needed 
another  drink,  and  pressed  the  electric  but- 
ton at  his  side. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Frazer  Bell  what  he'll  have  and 
bring  me  a  Martini  cocktail,"  he  said  to  the 
servant.  Then  he  shut  his  eyes  and  the  grin- 
ning wreaths  changed  into  a  girl's  face,  a  face 
which  had  haunted  him  day  in  and  day  out 
for  seven  years.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to 
brush  that  away  also,  but  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  it  on  Christmas-eve.  He  would 
give  himself  that  little  luxury  at  least,  before 
he  tried  to  obliterate  it  by  talking  gastron- 
omy with  Frazer  Bell.  Nearly  seven  years, 
verily,  since  he  had  seen  her  first !  She  was 
then  a  girl  of  nineteen,  and  he  at  the  bottom 
of  the  real  estate  ladder  without  a  dollar  to 
his  name,  as  it  were.  He  had  been  crazy  to 
marry  her,  and  for  two  years  he  had  followed 
her  from  ball-room  to  ball-room  with  a  fever- 
ish assiduity  which  threatened  to  revolution* 
ize  his  business  habits  and  make  light  of  his 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        23 

business  principles.  He  was  not  the  only 
one  in  love  with  her  ;  there  were  half  a  dozen ; 
but  the  one  whose  devotion  he  dreaded  most 
was  Charles  Leverett  Saunders,  a  handsome 
dashing  beau,  a  scion  of  a  rich  and  conspicu- 
ous house.  He  had  watched  her  behavior 
toward  his  rival  with  the  eye  of  a  lynx,  and 
as  he  compared  the  notes  of  one  evening  with 
the  notes  of  the  next  he  had  felt  that  she  was 
more  gracious  to  Saunders  than  to  him.  And 
yet  sometimes  she  was  so  sweet  and  kind  to 
him.  But  then,  again  she  would  be  cold  and 
distant,  almost  icy,  in  short ;  on  which  occa- 
sions he  had  felt  as  though  he  would  like  to 
cut  his  throat.  A  half-dozen  times  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  offer  himself  to  her  and 
know  his  fate,  but  somehow  his  determination, 
which  was  so  prodigious  in  other  affairs,  had 
failed  him.  So  matters  had  gone  for  a  year 
and  a  half,  and  he  had  seemed  no  nearer  and 
no  less  near  to  the  goal  than  ever.  He  had 
said  to  himself  severely  that  this  thing  must 
not  go  on. 

On  December  31st,  just  five  years  ago, 
there  was  to  be  a  famous  ball,  the  crack  party 
of  the  season.  He  had  resolved  that  before 
the  old  year  was  out  he  would  know  his  fate 


M         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

once  and  for  all.  Ten-dollar  gold  pieces  did 
not  grow  for  him  then  on  every  bush,  but  he 
ordered  from  the  florist  the  handsomest  bou- 
quet of  roses  and  violets  which  native  horti- 
cultural talent  could  devise,  and  sent  it  to 
Miss  Isabelle  Hardy  on  the  eve  of  the  ball. 
She  had  promised  to  dance  the  German  with 
him,  and  when  he  entered  the  ball-room  his 
eyes  saw  no  one  until  they  rested  on  her.  A 
frown  had  creased  his  brow,  for  she  was  on 
the  arm  of  Charles  Leverett  Saunders,  and 
was  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  smile  of 
happy  excitement  which  had  suggested  to 
Tom  that  he  was  as  far  from  her  thoughts  as 
the  Emperor  of  Japan.  What  was  more  and 
worse,  she  carried  three  gorgeous  bouquets, 
but  his  was  not  among  them.  Where  was  it  ? 
Had  it  not  been  sent  ?  If  so,  he  would  ruin 
that  florist's  trade  for  ever  and  ever.  Or  had 
she  left  it  at  home  on  purpose? 

He  fought  shy  of  her  until  the  German  and 
there  was  no  longer  an  excuse  for  him  to 
keep  away.  Almost  at  once  she  thanked  him 
for  his  lovely  flowers. 

"  But  you  have  not  brought  them." 
" No,"  she  said, sweetly.  "I  was  unable  to — • 
I,"  and  she  had  paused  in  her  embarrassment. 


THE  BACHELORS  CHRISTMAS        25 

"  There  were  so  many,  of  course." 
"  No,  it  was  not  that,  Mr.  Wiggin,  I  assure 
you."     But  she  had  looked  a  little  hurt  at 
his  gruff  words.     "  I  had  a  very  good  reason 
for  not  bringing  them." 

There  had  been  a  piteous  look  in  the  girl's 
eyes  as  she  spoke,  which  he  had  often  re- 
called since ;  but  then  he  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  his  anger  and  the  slight  which 
had  been  put  upon  him.  He  felt  like  asking 
why  she  had  not  left  Charles  Leverett  Saun- 
ders's  flowers  at  home  instead  of  his.  It  was 
clear  that  she  did  not  care  for  him,  and  it  be- 
came clearer  and  clearer  in  the  course  of  the 
evening ;  for  after  a  while  they  had  sat  al- 
most tongue-tied  beside  each  other.  He  had 
tried  his  best  not  to  be  disagreeable,  but  in 
spite  of  himself  cynical  sentences  had  slipped 
from  between  his  teeth  in  close  succeS" 
sion.  He  had  seen  that  she  was  hurt  and  he 
had  rather  gloried  in  it,  and  presently  an  em- 
barrassed silence  had  followed,  broken  by  the 
arrival  of  his  rival  with  a  magnificent  favor 
proffered  beamingly  to  the  girl  of  Tom's 
heart.  She  had  sailed  away,  and  looking 
back  over  her  shoulder,  given  Tom  one  glance 
— one  of  those  icy  glances  which  made  him 


26          THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

yearn  to  cut  his  throat.  That  was  bad  enough, 
but  to  crown  all,  when  her  turn  came  to  be- 
stow a  boutonniere  she  made  Tom  carry  her 
straight  up  to  Leverett  Saunders,  in  the  but- 
ton-hole of  whose  coat  she  proceeded  to  fasten 
the  rosebud  for  which  Tom  would  have  given 
twelve  months  of  his  life. 

Five  years  ago  on  the  first  of  January ! 
He  had  gone  home  that  night  certain  that 
Isabelle  Hardy  did  not  love  him,  and  re- 
solved that  she  should  play  fast  and  loose 
with  him  no  longer.  In  the  first  hours  of 
the  new  year  he  vowed  that  he  would  forget 
her,  and  devote  himself  to  his  business  heart 
and  soul.  Henceforth  he  would  close  eye 
and  brain  to  all  distractions.  He  would 
cease  forever  to  be  a  plaything  for  a  woman's 
caprice. 

He  had  kept  his  word.  That  is  to  say,  his 
attentions  had  ended  from  that  hour.  The 
festivities  which  had  known  him  knew  him 
no  more.  He  went  nowhere,  and  the  reason 
whispered  under  the  rose  was  that  Isabelle 
Hardy  had  given  him  the  mitten.  The  whis- 
per reached  him,  but  little  he  cared  that  ru- 
mor was  not  strictly  accurate.  Was  it  not 
practically  so  ?  She  had  to  all  intents  and 


THE  BACHELOR'S   CHRISTMAS         27 

purposes  thrown  him  over,  and  he  had 
expelled  her  image  from  his  heart  and  gone 
on  with  his  business,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left.  Occasionally  he  passed 
her  in  the  street,  and  on  every  Christmas-eve 
since  the  night  of  his  resolution,  he  had  left 
a  trifling  remembrance  at  the  house  in  Far- 
ragut  Place,  just,  as  it  were,  to  show  that 
there  was  no  ill  feeling.  Otherwise  they 
never  met,  and  here  he  was  to-day,  an  old 
bachelor  close  on  forty,  getting  bald  and 
set  in  his  ways,  with  a  splendid  business 
and  a  secret  ache  at  his  heart.  And  she  ? 
Tom  had  never  known  why  she  had  not 
married  Charles  Leverett  Saunders,  as  every- 
body expected  and  said  she  was  going  to 
do.  Yet  suddenly,  without  warning,  that 
dashing  gallant  had  gone  abroad  and  had 
remained  there  ever  since,  doing  the  Nile, 
and  Norway,  and  hunting  tigers  in  the 
jungles  of  India,  according  as  the  humor 
seized  him.  And  she  ?  She  was  beginning 
to  show  just  a  little  the  traces  of  time,  to 
suggest  what  she  would  look  like  if  she  never 
married  and  remained  after  all  an  old  maid. 
He  had  been  struck  by  it  the  last  time  he 
had  passed  her  in  the  street.  An  old  maid ! 


28         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

Isabelle  Hardy  an  old  maid !  There  was  bit- 
ter humor  in  it  for  Tom,  and  he  laughed 
aloud  in  the  reading-room,  then,  starting  at 
his  own  performance,  looked  around  him 
confusedly.  He  was  alone,  and  his  untasted 
drink  stood  at  his  elbow.  No  one  had  heard 
his  harsh,  strange  outburst.  He  tossed  off 
the  cocktail  and  sank  back  in  his  easy  chair 
to  confront  the  vision.  An  old  maid.  And 
he  was  an  old  bachelor.  And  it  was  Christ- 
mas-eve. And  what  a  gloomy,  diabolical  an- 
niversary it  was  for  old  maids  and  old  bach- 
elors. They  had  no  things-in-law  to  invite 
them  to  dinner.  They  were  out  in  the  cold 
and  their  room  was  better  than  their  com- 
pany. Jokes?  Jollities?  They  were  all 
matrimonial  and  centred  about  baby's  teeth 
or  Noah's  arks.  The  only  thing  for  an  old 
bachelor  or  old  maid  to  do  was  to  ransack 
toy  shops  and  then  stand  aside.  Merry 
Christmas?  How  in  the  name  of  Santa 
Glaus  was  an  old  bachelor  or  an  old  maid  to 
have  a  merry  Christmas  ?  And  why  in  time 
shouldn't  they  be  merry  if  they  could  ? 

Five  minutes  later,  the  servant  had  to  an- 
nounce twice  that  dinner  was  served  before 
Tom  turned  his  head,  which  caused  that 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         29 

functionary  to  reflect  that  Mr.  Wiggin  was 
getting  a  little  deaf.  He  was  looking  straight 
before  him  into  the  fire,  as  though  he  were 
interested  in  the  processes  of  combustion  or 
the  price  of  coal.  He  turned  at  the  second 
summons  with  a  start. 

"What's  that,  Simon?  Mr.  Bell  waiting 
for  me  ?  Oh,  of  course  ;  dinner  is  ready. 
Tell  him — tell  him,"  he  added  with  a  fever- 
ish, excited  manner  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
"  that  I'll  be  with  him  in  a  moment.  I  must 
use  the  telephone  first.  I'll  put  it  through," 
he  added  to  himself  as  he  dashed  from  the 
room,  "  if  it  takes  a  leg." 

Whatever  Tom  was  bent  on  almost  cost 
him  a  bone  of  some  sort  at  the  start,  for  just 
beyond  the  door  of  the  reading-room  he 
bumped  full  into  George  Hapgood,  a  stout, 
dignified-looking  man  of  about  fifty.  When 
Tom  realized  who  it  was  his  eyes  gleamed 
joyously,  and  in  lieu  of  an  apology  he  blurted 
out: 

"  You're  just  the  man  I'm  looking  for,  Hap- 
good.  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  dine  with 
me  to-morrow  ?  Now  don't  say  you  can't,  for 
you  must." 

"  To-morrow  ?       To-morrow's  Christmas, 


30         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

isn't  it  ?  "  was  the  inquiry,  with  just  a  shade 
of  melancholy  in  the  tone. 

"  Yes.  And  we're  out  of  it — two  old  bach- 
elors like  you  and  me.  I'm  going  to  bring  a 
few  choice  spirits  together  to  prove  that  the 
things-in-law  can't  have  all  the  fun.  Say 
you'll  come.  Here,  at  seven." 

"  I — I  was  going  to  dine  with  my  brother, 
but  I  got  a  telegram  from  him  this  afternoon 
saying  that  the  children  had  broken  out  with 
scarlet  fever  and — 

"  I  understand,  old  man.  So  did  mine.  I 
mean — we're  all  in  the  same  boat.  Then  I 
shall  count  on  you  at  seven." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Wiggin.  I'll  be  glad 
to  come,"  answered  Hapgood,  with  a  grave, 
courteous  bow.  Tom  remembered  having 
heard  it  said  that  Hapgood  had  never  really 
smiled  since  his  lady-love,  Marian  Blake,  mar- 
ried Willis  Bolles,  twenty -five  years  before. 
He  was  a  brilliant  lawyer  and  an  influential 
man,  but  he  had  never  been  known  to  smile, 
and  he  habitually  fought  shy  of  all  entertain- 
ments where  the  other  sex  was  to  be  encoun- 
tered, as  though  he  feared  contagion. 

"  I  thought  I  wouldn't  tell  him  that  there 
might  be  women.  It  '11  do  him  good  to  meet 


TEE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        31 

a  few,"  chuckled  Tom,  as  he  pursued  his  way 
to  the  telephone  box. 

"Is  that  Albion  Hall?" 

"Yes,  seh." 

"Is  Mr.  MaxweU  there?" 

"  No,  seh,  Mr.  Maxwell  has  gone  home." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  The  janitor,  seh." 

"Is  the  hall  engaged  for  to-morrow 
night?" 

"Can't  say,  seh.  Haven't  any  orders.  You 
mean  Christmas  night,  seh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to-morrow,  Christmas." 

"Likely  not,  seh." 

"  Where  does  Mr.  Maxwell  live  ?  " 

"  Plainville,  seh." 

"  Humph !  Do  you  wish  to  make  a  ten- 
dollar  bill,  janitor  ?  Yery  well.  Take  a  car- 
riage and  drive  out  to  Plainville  as  tight  as 
you  can  fetch  it,  and  find  out  if  Mr.  Thomas 
Wiggin — he  knows  me — can  have  the  hall  to- 
morrow night.  Tell  Mr.  Maxwell  that  if  he'll 
meet  me  at  my  rooms  at  eight  o'clock  to- 
morrow, Christmas  morning,  I'll  add  twenty- 
five  per  cent,  to  the  price.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  Now  repeat  what  I've  said  to  you. 
That's  right.  Go  along  now  and  report  to  me 


32         THE  BACHELOR'S   CHRISTMAS 

at  the  Blackstone  Club  as  soon  as  you  get 
back,  and  for  every  five  minutes  which  you 
take  from  an  hour  and  a  half  I'll  add  an  extra 
dollar  to  the  ten." 

Tom  looked  at  his  watch  reflectively.  It 
was  a  quarter  past  seven.  He  must  dine  first, 
if  only  not  to  break  faith  with  Frazer  Bell, 
whom  he  had  kept  waiting  abominably  long 
already.  He  stopped  an  instant,  however,  at 
the  office  on  his  way  to  join  Frazer,  so  as  to 
make  sure  that  he  could  have  the  large  green 
dining-room  for  the  following  evening. 

"  To-morrow's  Christmas,  you  know,  Mr. 
Wiggin  ?  "  suggested  the  steward,  respect- 
fully. 

"  I  know  it,  Dunklee.  Is  there  any  reason 
why  I  shouldn't  give  a  dinner  party  on  Christ- 
mas day  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  of  course  not.  I  merely  thought 
that  perhaps  you  were  going  to  dine  else- 
where and  had  forgotten  it  was  Christmas 
day." 

"  I  dine  here,  and — I  wish  a  dinner  for,  say 
sixteen — I  can't  tell  the  precise  number  yet — 
a  ladies'  dinner.  And  I  wish  it  to  be  as  hand- 
some as  possible.  You  mustn't  fail  me,"  he 
added,  noticing  that  the  steward  looked  rathei 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         33 

dismayed.  "  Start  your  messengers  at  once 
and  spare  no  expense,  if  you  have  to  drag  the 
butchers  from  their  beds  to  get  what  you 
need.  I'll  see  to  the  flowers  myself ;  I  have 
a  greenhouse  in  my  mind's  eye  which  I  intend 
to  buy  solidly  for  the  occasion." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Wiggin,  I'll  do  my  best, 
though  it's  late  to  begin,  sir." 

Frazer  Bell  was  sitting  before  his  raw  oys- 
ters the  picture  of  polite  despair,  seeing  in 
his  mind's  eye  the  delicate  dinner  which  he 
had  ordered  being  done  to  death  and  getting 
lukewarm. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  owe  you  a  thousand 
pardons,  but  I  had  to  telephone.  If  our  din- 
ner is  spoiled,  or  whether  it  is  or  not,  I  want 
you  to  promise  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow 
night.  I  have  evolved  a  scheme  while  we 
were  waiting,  which  I  will  unfold  to  you  pres- 
ently. Go  on  with  your  oysters.  I  hope  you 
will  forgive  me." 

"  To-morrow,  Christmas?  " 

"  Yes.  I  propose  to  give  an  entertainment 
to  all  the  old  bachelors  and  maiden  ladies  of 
my  acquaintance,  if  they'll  come.  A  dinner 
here  followed  by  a  dance  at  Albion  Hall,  and 
Dunklee  is  arranging  for  the  dinner.  I'm 
3 


34         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

going  to  invite  all  the  old  timers,  and  I  need 
your  advice  as  to  the  list.  For  a  starter  111 
put  down  the  three  Bellknap  girls." 

Tom  whipped  out  his  pencil  and  proceeded 
to  utilize  the  back  of  the  bill  of  fare  which 
Frazer  had  had  drawn  up  to  gloat  over. 

"  See  first  what  you're  going  to  eat,  old 
man." 

"  It's  sure  to  be  admirable  if  you  ordered 
it.  It  has  always  been  a  matter  of  wonder  to 
me  that  neither  of  those  Bellknap  girls  have 
married.  Then  there's  Georgiana  Dixon,  in 
the  same  block.  Glad  I  remembered  her. 
Charming  girl  too.  She  ought  to  have  been 
married  years  ago.  Come  to  think  of  it,  you 
used  to  be  a  friend  of  hers,  Frazer." 

"  Yes,  I  did.  What  on  earth  are  you  up  to, 
Tom  ?  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Never  more  so  in  my  life.  I  tell  you 
there's  a  tacit  conspiracy  in  this  town — I  dare 
say  it's  all  over  the  planet — against  us  poor 
wretches  who  are  old  enough  to  be  married 
and  haven't,  and  they — the  married  ones  I 
mean — like  to  keep  us  out  in  the  cold,  as  a 
sort  of  punishment,  may  be,  because  we've 
chosen  to  remain  single.  I'm  sick  of  it  for 
one,  and  I'm  going  to  organize  a  revolution. 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         35 

I'm  going  to  have  a  grand  family  meeting  of 
all  the  poor  lonely  spirits  like  you  and  me  and 
the  Bellknap  girls  and  Georgiana  Dixon  and 
George  Hapgood,  and — and  the  things- in-law 
may  go  to  the  devil.  Now  put  your  wits  on 
this  thing,  Frazer,  while  you  disintegrate  your 
terrapin.  Come,  girls  first." 

"  Do  you  suppose  they'll  ever  come  ?  "  asked 
Frazer,  with  an  amazed  grin.  He  was  essen- 
tially a  conventional  man  without  a  spark  of 
imagination,  and  he  could  scarcely  believe 
that  Tom  was  really  in  earnest. 

"They've  got  to  come.  Why  shouldn't 
they  come  ?  " 

"They'll  think  it  queer." 

"  It  isn't  queer.     It's  righteous." 

"  All  right.  Put  down  Miss  Mamie  Scott. 
She  will  never  see  thirty  again." 

"  Capital.  Poor  soul !  A  girl  to  make  any 
man  happy." 

"  There's  Susan  Davis." 

"To  be  sure.  She  isn't  pretty,  but  she's 
good.  Joe  Elliott  used  to  be  partial  to  her 
before  he  ran  a  rig  with  that  smug-faced  doll 
who  jilted  him.  What  a  fool  he  was !  We'll 
ask  him  too." 

To  tell  the  truth,  even  the  gastronomic 


36         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

Frazer  Bell,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  din- 
ner was  very  far  from  spoiled,  presently  for- 
got what  he  was  eating  and  drinking  in  the 
absorbing  process  of  selection.  By  the  time 
the  cheese  and  a  rare  glass  of  Burgundy  ar- 
rived the  list  was  finished,  and  Tom  was  eager 
to  escape  to  the  reading-room  to  prepare  the 
notes  of  invitation,  which  must  be  sent  at 
once.  There  were  forty-six  in  all  to  be  in- 
vited, out  of  which  he  hoped  to  secure  enough 
for  a  full-fledged  dinner  party.  Those  who 
could  not  come  to  dinner  were  to  be  urged  to 
join  them  at  Albion  Hall  later. 

The  matter  of  wording  the  invitation  was  a 
serious  one,  and  Tom  sat  feeling  of  the  bald 
spot  on  his  crown  for  several  minutes.  At 
last,  with  a  desperate  air  he  plunged  his  pen 
into  the  inkstand  and  wrote  as  follows  to 
Miss  Madeline  Bellknap : 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  BELLKNAP  :  I  beg  as  a  favor 
that  you  and  both  your  sisters  will  honor  me 
with  your  company  at  dinner  to-morrow,  De- 
cember 25th,  at  the  Blackstone  Club,  at  seven 
o'clock.  I  am  bringing  together,  in  celebra- 
tion of  a  bachelor's  Christmas,  a  number  of 
kindred  spirits  who  have  no  things-in-law  to 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        37 

cater  to  their  sympathetic  needs,  and  yet  who 
have  a  no  less  equal  right  to  a  merry  Christ- 
mas. After  dinner  we  shall  adjourn  to  Al- 
bion Hall  to  dance,  to  which  I  trust  that  you 
or  some  of  you,  if  unable  to  dine  with  me, 
will  come  at  ten  o'clock.  With  the  compli- 
ments of  the  season  and  the  sincere  hope  that 
you  will  oblige  me,  I  am, 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"THOMAS  WIGGIN." 

"  How  is  that,  Frazer  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it's  all  right,"  said  Frazer,  in  a 
tone  which  suggested  that  he  was  far  from 
sure  whether  it  was  not  all  wrong. 

"  Perfectly  respectful  and  to  the  point,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes.  Hold  on,  Tom.  How  about  a  chap- 
eron ?  They  won't  come  without  a  chaperon." 

Tom  bit  his  lip.  "  I  won't  have  a  chaperon. 

I'll  be if  I  will  have  a  chaperon."  He 

puckered  his  brow  gloomily;  then,  with  a 
sudden  wave  of  his  hand,  he  cried, 

"  I  have  it." 

Thereupon  he  dashed  off  this  postscript : 

"  P.S.  We  are  all  old  enough  to  take  care 
of  ourselves." 


38         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

For  the  next  two  hours  Tom  and  Frazer 
devoted  themselves  with  feverish  industry  to 
the  task  of  writing  the  two-score  invitations. 
In  such  an  emergency  forgery  seemed  allow- 
able, and,  without  attempting  to  imitate  the 
Wiggin  chirography,  Frazer  boldly  signed  the 
name  of  Thomas.  As  soon  as  every  half- 
dozen  notes  were  finished  they  were  hurried 
to  their  destination  by  special  messengers. 
The  clock  struck  half-past  ten  when  the  last 
was  done.  Tom  handed  over  to  the  boy  in 
attendance  the  final  batch,  all  save  a  single 
one.  While  he  was  writing  this  he  could  have 
written  half  a  dozen  of  the  others,  and  now 
that  it  was  written  and  addressed  he  drew  it 
from  the  envelope  to  read  once  more  the  words 
which  he  had  penned  so  carefully.  Their 
tenor  was  essentially  the  same,  but  he  had 
stricken  out  a  phrase  or  two  here,  and  added 
a  phrase  or  two  there,  to  make  sure  that  she 
would  understand  the  nature  of  the  invitation. 
Then  he  arose  with  it  in  his  hand  and  said, 
"  Good-night,  Frazer.  A  thousand  thanks. 
I'll  leave  this  one  myself.  Wish  you  merry 
Christmas." 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        39 


in 

AT  half  past  six  on  the  evening  of  Christ- 
mas day  Tom  Wiggin  stood  in  the  large  green 
dining-room  of  the  Blackstone  Club,  survey- 
ing a  magnificently  appointed  table.  Roses, 
pansies,  and  violets  from  the  greenhouse 
which  he  had  bought  out  at  ten  o'clock  that 
morning,  lay  tastefully  banked  and  scattered 
upon  the  cloth,  intertwined  with  masses  of 
evergreen  and  holly  gay  with  berries.  Christ- 
mas wreaths  and  festoons  were  lavishly  ar- 
ranged around  the  walls.  Dunklee  had  as- 
sured him  that  there  should  be  no  dearth  of 
palatable  viands,  and,  most  important  fact  of 
all,  there  had  been  twenty  acceptances  for 
dinner,  happily  just  ten  men  and  ten  women, 
and  nearly  a  dozen  more  acceptances  for  the 
dance.  He  had  been  in  a  mad  whirl  since 
daybreak,  but  he  believed  now  that  he  had 
accomplished  everything  except  to  arrange 
the  seats  at  table,  which  needed  a  little  quiet 
reflection. 

The  answers  had  begun  to  arrive  shortly 
after  breakfast.  The  first  had  been  a  refusal, 
a  little  curt  and  stiff  in  tone,  as  though  the 


40          THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

lady  in  question,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
she  had  promised  to  dine  with  one  of  her 
family,  wished  to  give  him  to  understand  that 
she  took  herself  too  seriously  to  accept  such 
an  invitation  under  any  circumstances.  Tom's 
heart  sank  within  him,  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  had  made  a  mess  of  it.  Five  minutes 
later  his  features  were  as  complacent  as  those 
of  a  Cheshire  cat.  The  Misses  Bellknap  were 
coming,  all  three  of  them.  They  had  ordered 
dinner  at  home,  but  were  coming  notwith- 
standing, to  help  Mr.  Wiggin  pass  a  merry 
Christmas  and  confound  the  things-in-law. 

"  They  are  three  noble  sports,"  Tom  had 
said  to  himself,  as  he  danced  around  his 
apartment  waving  the  mildly  scented  note. 

Other  answers  came  thick  and  fast.  Of 
course  many  had  engagements,  but  most  of 
these  expressed  deep  regret  at  their  inability 
to  attend,  and  several  who  could  not  come  to 
dinner  promised  to  put  in  an  appearance  at 
the  dance.  There  were  a  few  other  chilling 
refusals.  Miss  Susan  Davis,  whom  Tom  had 
characterized  as  not  pretty  but  good,  let  him 
perceive  very  plainly  that  she  considered  the 
invitation  indelicate.  On  the  other  hand,  Miss 
Mamie  Scott,  who  would  never  see  thirty 


THE  BACHELOR' 8  CHRISTMAS        41 

again,  had  written  him  spiritedly  that  it  was 
a  comfort  to  know  that  she  was  old  enough  to 
take  care  of  herself,  and  that  she  was  coming 
without  her  mother  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life. 

And  she  ?  Tom  had  not  heard  until  nearly 
noon,  and  he  had  realized,  as  he  held  the  little 
neatly  sealed  note  in  his  hand,  that  if  she  were 
going  to  fail  him  his  pleasure  in  the  whole 
business  would  be  utterly  gone.  His  wrist 
shook  as  though  he  had  the  palsy,  and  he 
hated  to  look.  She  was  coming ;  yes,  she 
was  coming.  Her  father  and  mother  were 
going  to  dine  with  her  brother-in-law,  and 
though  she  had  promised  to  do  the  same  she 
thought  she  would  enjoy  better  the  very  origi- 
nal dinner  to  which  he  had  invited  her. 
"And,  as  you  say,"  she  wrote  in  conclusion, 
"  we  are  certainly  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
ourselves."  She  was  coining;  yes,  she  was 
coming,  and  whatever  happened  now,  he  was 
going  to  have  a  merry  Christmas. 

And  how  was  he  to  seat  them?  It  was 
rather  a  nice  problem.  To  begin  with,  Tom 
sandwiched  in  George  Hapgood  between  the 
eldest  Miss  Bellknap  and  Miss  Mamie  Scott, 
which  was  as  delightful  a  situation  as  any 


42         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

man  could  wish  to  have.  Frazer  Bell  must 
go  beside  Georgiana  Dixon,  and  Harry  Aber- 
crombie,  who  had  been  dangling  for  years  in 
the  train  of  Angelina  Phillips  until  everybody 
was  tired,  should  take  her  in  and  have  the 
second  Miss  Bellknap  on  his  other  side.  Tom 
was  making  pretty  good  progress,  but  what 
really  troubled  him  was  whether  it  would  do 
for  him  to  place  Isabelle  Hardy  next  to  him- 
self. Would  not  such  a  proceeding  be  quite 
inconsistent  with  the  vow  which  he  had  been 
living  up  to  for  the  past  five  years  ?  What 
sense  would  there  be  in  putting  himself  in 
the  way  of  temptation,  when  he  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  she  did  not  care  a  button  for 
him  ?  What  use,  indeed  ?  And  yet,  as  he 
said  to  himself,  Christmas  comes  but  once  a 
year,  and  this  was  his  party,  and — and  had 
not  she  herself  stated  that  they  certainly  were 
old  enough  now  to  take  care  of  themselves  ? 
Why  shouldn't  he  sit  next  to  her  ?  He  was 
no  longer  the  sentimental,  hot-headed  boy  of 
five  years  ago.  They  would  enjoy  themselves 
like  any  other  sober  bachelor  and  old  maid. 
It  would  only  be  for  one  evening,  and  begin- 
ning with  to-morrow  he  would  stick  to  his 
vow  as  sturdily  as  ever.  Yes,  he  would  take 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS        43 

in  the  eldest  Miss  Bellknap,  who  would  be  the 
oldest  woman  present,  and  he  would  put  Isa- 
belle  Hardy  on  his  left. 

When  he  had  made  this  important  decision 
Tom  found  the  arrangement  of  his  other  guests 
a  simple  matter,  and  after  one  final  scrutiniz- 
ing, but  tolerably  contented,  glance  around 
the  table,  he  walked  into  the  ladies'  drawing- 
room  to  await  the  arrival  of  his  company. 

Punctually  on  the  stroke  of  seven,  the  three 
Misses  Bellknap  swept  into  the  room  in  a 
merry  flutter.  They  were  tall  bean-poles  of 
girls,  who  had  naturally  a  prancing  style,  and 
they  were  in  their  very  best  bib  and  tucker, 
which  included  great  puffed  sleeves  and  nod- 
ding plumes  in  their  hair.  In  one  breath 
they  told  Tom  that  they  considered  it  a  grand 
idea,  that  they  had  been  practically  nowhere 
for  years,  and  that  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  be 
thought  of  and  taken  down  from  the  shelf,  if 
only  for  a  single  evening.  It  was  evident  that 
they  had  come  determined  to  have  at  least  a 
good  time,  if  not  a  riot,  for  when  their  eyes 
rested  on  George  Hapgood  standing  in  the 
door- way  the  picture  of  blank  amazement,  all 
three  giggled  convulsively  as  though  they 
were  eighteen. 


44         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Come  in,  George,  don't  be  afraid,"  said 
Tom.  "  They  won't  bite." 

"  We  really  won't  hurt  you,  Mr.  Hapgood," 
said  Miss  Madeline,  the  eldest ;  "  do  come 
in." 

It  was  too  late  for  the  woman-hater  to 
draw  back  now,  so,  like  the  man  he  was,  he 
braced  his  muscles  and  faced  the  music. 
He  bowed  with  grave  courtesy  to  the  young- 
est Miss  Bellknap ;  he  bowed  with  a  faint 
smile — just  a  ghostly  glimmer,  but,  neverthe- 
less, a  smile — to  Miss  Arabella,  the  second 
Miss  Bellknap ;  and  when  he  faced  the  eld- 
est Miss  Bellknap,  who  happening  to  be  the 
furthest  away  from  him  was  the  last  to  be 
reached,  his  features  broke  down  completely, 
and  he  positively  laughed — laughed  for  the 
first  time  in  twenty  years. 

"Do  shake  hands,  Mr.  Hapgood,"  said 
Miss  Madeline  ;  "  this  is  like  old  times." 

And  now  everybody  began  to  arrive  in  a 
bunch  in  the  midst  of  a  general  handshaking 
and  chorus  of  merriment.  The  arrival  of 
each  old  stager,  masculine  or  feminine,  was 
greeted  with  fresh  exclamations  of  delight, 
and  a  spirit  of  contagious  frivolity  was  ram- 
pant from  the  very  start. 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         45 

Tom  was  already  bubbling  over  with  en- 
joyment, but  his  eyes  were  glued  on  the 
doorway.  There  she  was  at  last,  looking — 
yes,  looking  younger  and  prettier  than  he 
had  ever  seen  her  in  his  life,  and  dressed  be- 
witchingly.  An  old  maid  !  It  was  impossi- 
ble. It  was  monstrous. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come,  Miss 
Hardy." 

"  I  am  very  much  pleased  to  be  here,  Mr. 
Wiggin." 

Most  conventional  phraseology,  and  there 
was  really  no  reason  why  Tom  should  keep 
repeating  the  words  over  to  himself  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  fashion  until  he  was  called  to 
account  by  the  opening  of  the  doors. 

"Dinner  is  served,  sir." 

Then  readjusting  his  faculties,  Tom  gave 
his  arm  to  Miss  Madeline  Bellknap,  every 
Jack  did  the  same  to  his  appointed  Jill,  and 
the  company  filed  gayly  into  the  dining- 
room. 

Beginning  with  the  oysters,  there  was 
almost  a  pandemonium  of  conversation,  and 
tongues  wagged  fast  and  eagerly.  There 
were  to  be  no  speeches — Tom  had  deter- 
mined on  that — or  rather  only  a  single  one, 


46         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

and  this  was  an  after-thought.  When  the 
champagne  was  passed,  and  all  the  glasses 
were  filled,  Tom  rose  in  his  seat.  Everyone 
stopped  talking,  and  there  was  an  expectant 
hush. 

"  I  wish  to  offer  a  toast,"  he  said,  "  a  toast 
for  the  old  bachelors  to  drink.  "Wish  you 
merry  Christmas  and — and  here's  to  her  !  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  and  then  George 
Hapgood,  and  in  his  wake  the  whole  table, 
rose  like  one  man  and  emptied  their  brim- 
ming glasses. 

"  Here's  to  her  !  " 

Tom  did  not  look  to  right  nor  to  left,  not 
even  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  as  he 
drained  to  the  last  drop  the  sparkling  wine. 
He  would  keep  to  his  vow  and  drink  to  her 
in  secret.  Some  of  the  ladies  giggled 
slightly,  and  all  looked  at  their  plates.  It 
was  just  a  little  awkward,  even  for  the  most 
unattached,  until  Miss  Madeline  Bellknap 
rose,  glass  in  hand,  and  said  valiantly,  with 
a  wave  of  her  napkin  : 

"  My  dears,  I  give  you  a  toast  for  you  to 
drink.  Wish  you  merry  Christmas.  We  are 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  ourselves  ;  and— 
and  here's  to  him  I  " 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         47 

Then  there  was  babel.  The  women  stood 
up  to  a  woman,  and  the  toast  was  consum- 
mated. 

Miss  Hardy  laughed  gayly  with  the  rest. 
Presently  she  turned  to  Tom  and  said,  as  if 
it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  though  they 
had  been  sitting  side  by  side  talking  com- 
monplaces ever  since  dinner  began : 

"  I  have  not  really  seen  you  for  years,  Mr. 
"Wiggin." 

"  I  have  been  busy — very  busy,"  said  Tom, 
in  a  tone  which,  though  he  did  not  intend  it 
to  be  so,  was  almost  brusque. 

"  So  I  have  heard.  I  understand  you  have 
been  very  successful  in  your  business." 

"I  have  stuck  to  it,  that's  all." 

"  I  really  don't  think  we  have  met  so  as  to 
talk  together  since  Mrs.  Carter's  ball,  and 
that  was — let  me  see — five  years  ago  this 
coming  New  Year's  eve.  I  remember  we 
danced  the  German  together,  and — you  sent 
me  some  flowers  which  I  didn't  carry.  Per- 
haps you  have  forgotten  all  about  it,  for  five 
years  is  a  long  time  and  you  have  been  so 
busy;  but  I  should  like  to  explain  to  you 
about  those  flowers — why  I  didn't  carry  them. 
"We  are  both  old  enough  now  to  take  care  of 


48         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

ourselves,  so  there  can't  be  any  objection  to 
iny  telling  you,  and — and  you  won't  be  of- 
fended at  this  late  day,  I'm  sure.  I  had  sev- 
eral bouquets  that  night,  and  Fannie  Perkins, 
who  was  staying  with  me,  had  none.  Fan- 
nie was  shy  and  sensitive,  and  it  occurred  to 
me  to  offer  one  of  mine  to  her.  She  wouldn't 
think  of  it  at  first,  but  mother  urged  her  so 
strongly  that  she  gave  in  at  last.  'Which 
shall  I  take,  Isabelle  ? '  she  asked.  I  thought 
a  moment  and  then  said,  '  Take  your  pick, 
Fannie.'  And  she  chose  yours.  And  that  is 
why  I  didn't  carry  it  to  the  party.  But  I 
think  you  have  forgotten  all  about  it,  Mr. 
Wiggin." 

Tom  looked  as  though  he  had.  His  chin 
rested  on  his  collar,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
staring  at  the  table-cloth. 

"  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday,** 
he  said,  sadly.  "  I  was  a  fool." 

Miss  Hardy  colored.  "  We  were  both 
young,"  she  answered,  "  but  now  that  we  are 
older  and  wiser,  I  don't  mind  admitting  on 
my  side  that  it  was  stupid  of  me,  to  begin 
with,  to  give  one  of  my  bouquets  to  any- 
body, and  stupid  when  I  saw  that  you  were 
put  out  not  to  tell  you  the  truth.  But  wis< 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         49 

dom  is  the  reward  of  years,  isn't  it  ?  "  She 
talked  easily,  almost  gayly.  Tom  suddenly 
realized  that  he  had  made  a  piece  of  bread 
which  he  had  been  clutching  into  a  sodden 
ball. 

"I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  single  question." 
He  was  trying  to  talk  easily  too.  "  Why  did 
you  let  Miss  Perkins  have  her  pick?  Did 
jou  value  them  all  equally  ?  " 

"  It  was  because  I  did  not  value  them  all 
equally  that  I  told  her  to  choose.  I  did  not 
wish  her  to  think  that  I  cared  for  one  more 
than  the  others." 

"  And  whose  was  that  ?  " 

"  Five  years  is  a  long  time,  Mr.  Wiggin. 
You  said  a  single  question,  and  this  is  two. 
Alas  !  It  is  the  only  point  in  the  story  which 
I  have  quite  forgotten." 

"  Then  why  did  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  hoped  that  we  might  be  friends 
again.  When  people  get  to  be  as  old  as  you 
and  I  we  value  our  old  friends.  There  are 
none  exactly  like  them." 

"And  that  is  all?" 

"What  more  is  there,  Mr.  Wiggin?     Ex- 
cept to  thank  you  for  your  lovely  book,  and 
to  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas." 
4 


60         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

11  The  carriages  are  waiting,"  said  a  ser* 
vant  in  Tom's  ear. 

The  dinner  was  over  and  it  was  time  to 
set  out  for  Albion  Hall.  The  ladies  filed 
into  the  drawing-room,  in  order,  as  Miss 
Madeline  phrased  it,  to  give  the  old  bache- 
lors a  chance  for  a  short  cigar.  When  that 
was  over  Tom  bundled  his  company  into 
carriages,  and  away  they  all  went  in  the  gay- 
est of  spirits. 

Whatever  belonging  to  the  greenhouse  had 
not  been  spread  over  the  dinner-table  adorn- 
ed the  walls  of  the  dancing-room,  and  pres- 
ently as  joyous  and  hilarious  a  company 
as  anyone  would  wish  to  see  was  tripping  to 
the  rhythm  of  the  waltz  over  a  perfect  floor. 
There  was  just  the  right  number  for  delight- 
ful dancing,  no  young  inexperienced  couples 
to  bump  into  everybody,  no  things-in-law  to 
stand  in  the  way  and  look  stupid ;  no  one  but 
genuine  old  stagers  taken  down  from  the 
shelf  for  one  last  glorious  frolic.  You  should 
have  seen  George  Hapgood  spinning  round 
with  Miss  Madeline!  How  Frazer  Bell 
grinned  as  he  whirled  Miss  Mamie  Scott  from 
one  comer  of  the  hall  to  the  other !  And 
Tom  ?  Where  was  Tom  ? 


THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS         51 

As  some  of  you  who  have  danced  at  Albion 
Hall  may  remember,  there  is  a  very  small 
bower-like  ante-room,  or  off-shoot,  or  what- 
ever you  choose  to  call  it,  a  sort  of  adjunct  to 
the  supper-room,  fit  for  just  one  couple  to 
withdraw  to.  On  this  Christmas  evening  it 
was  a  veritable  hiding-place,  for  the  entrance 
to  it  was  screened  by  two  noble  evergreens 
which  stood  as  sentinels  to  demand  a  pass- 
word. If  the  gay  company  suspected  that 
Tom  Wiggin  was  there,  no  one  was  rash 
enough  to  peep  within  and  ascertain.  Tom 
Wiggin  ivas  there,  and  quite  contrary  to  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion,  he  was  down  on  his 
knees  unbosoming  the  love  which  he  had 
been  smothering  for  five  years  to  the  girl  of 
his  heart.  Only  think  of  it !  And  he,  a 
bald-headed  old  bachelor,  and  she  an  old 
maid  old  enough  to  take  care  of  herself. 
There  she  sat  with  her  hands  before  her  and 
a  smile  on  her  face,  letting  him  go  on.  And 
then,  strangest  part  of  all,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished and  fcold  how  miserable  he  had  been 
while  he  was  so  very  busy  and  absorbed  in 
his  business,  she  suddenly  remembered 
whose  bouquet  it  was  she  had  valued  most 
five  years  before,  although  she  had  declared 


52         THE  BACHELOR'S  CHRISTMAS 

an  hour  earlier  that  she  had  totally  forgotten. 
And  then — but  the  rest  is  a  secret,  known 
only  to  the  sentinel  evergreens  and  them- 
selves. That  is,  the  rest  save  one  thing.  It 
was  after  they  had  agreed  to  live  as  bachelor 
and  maid  no  longer,  and  Tom  was  sitting 
looking  at  Isabelle  as  if  he  had  had  no  din- 
ner, he  remarked,  with  a  sudden  outburst,  as 
though  he  were  angry  with  destiny  and  a 
much  outraged  being : 

"Why  on  earth  did  I  not  find  out  five 
years  ago  that  you  loved  me?  " 

"  Because,"  said  the  pretty  spinster  in 
question,  "  you  never  asked  me,  Tom,  dear." 

Tom  Wiggin  looked  a  trifle  sheepish  in 
spite  of  his  joy.  "I  never  thought  of  that," 
he  said.  "I  am  afraid  I  never  did." 


THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 
BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION 


THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 
BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION 

THE  Matrimonial  Tontine  Mutual  Bene- 
fit Association  of  New  York  was  re- 
duced to  two  members.  These  were  Benja- 
min Davis,  note  broker,  and  Horace  Wilson, 
landscape  gardener.  The  rest  were  married 
or  buried.  That  is  to  say,  one  member,  poor 
Thomas  Cook,  was  under  the  sod,  and  the 
other  twelve  were  Benedicks  in  good  stand- 
ing. There  had  not  been  even  a  divorce, 
though  divorce  was  not  a  contingency  pro- 
vided for  in  the  constitution. 

The  Association  was  twelve  years  old,  and 
owed  its  existence  to  a  random  remark  made 
by  Harry  Stephenson  at  a  dinner  at  the 
club. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he,  "  which  of  us  fellows 
will  marry  first." 

"  Or  last,"  said  Ben  Davis. 

"  Or  not  at  all,"  said  Horace  Wilson. 


56         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

There  was  some  lively  banter  on  the  sub- 
ject, chiefly  to  the  effect  that  marriage  as  an 
institution  was  decaying,  and  that  no  one  but 
a  Crcesus  could  afford  to  take  a  wife,  and 
presently  George  Edmunds,  who  had  been 
smoking  reflectively,  drew  general  attention 
to  himself  by  rapping  on  the  table. 

"  I  have  a  scheme  to  propose,"  he  said. 

George  Edmunds  was  known  to  have  a 
nimble  fancy  and  to  be  a  practical  individual 
into  the  bargain.  He  was  a  writer  of  fic- 
tion, but  he  had  invented  in  his  spare 
moments  a  patent  corkscrew  and  a  patent 
potato-peeler  which  brought  him  in  a  round 
sum  annually.  Consequently  any  scheme  of 
his  suggestion  was  sure  to  be  listened  to  re- 
spectfully. 

"  There  are  fifteen  of  us  here  to-night,"  he 
continued,  "  and  there  can't  be  a  difference  of 
two  years  between  the  eldest  and  the  young- 
est. Why  shouldn't  we  form  a  Bachelors' 
Protective  Union  ?  " 

He  paused  and  looked  round  the  room  in- 
quiringly. Several  smiled  as  though  the 
idea  pleased  them;  but  evidently  no  one 
knew  exactly  what  George  meant ;  and  by 
way  of  inviting  elucidation,  Ben  Davis,  who 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  57 

probably  had  the  potato-peeler  in  mind, 
asked  : 

"  Where's  the  chance  for  making  an  honest 
dollar  this  time  ?  " 

"  I'll  show  you,"  replied  George.  "  Fif- 
teen members  at  an  annual  assessment  of 
twenty-five  dollars  apiece  will  insure  a  din- 
ner on  the  first  of  every  January  for  the 
party,  and  leave  a  neat  little  annual  sum  to  be 
invested  by  the  treasurer.  The  last  man  who 
holds  out  against  the  enemy  takes  the  pool. 
If  the  fund  is  skilfully  handled,  and  we  hold 
out  as  rigorously  as  we  talk,  he  ought  to 
carry  off  a  tidy  sum." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval  and 
amusement. 

"  It's  a  pious  plan,"  exclaimed  Stephenson. 
"  Let's  put  it  through." 

"  We  will,"  said  several  others. 

"  But  suppose  there  never  should  be  a  last 
man?  There  might  be  several,  you  know, 
who  would  hold  out  to  the  end,"  said  Ben 
Davis.  "  There  should  be  a  time  limit  when 
the  survivors  divide." 

This  seemed  sensible,  and  it  was  subse- 
quently agreed  that  at  the  end  of  twenty  years 
the  pool  should  be  apportioned  in  case  there 


58         THE  MATRIMONIAL   TONTINE 

should  be  more  than  a  single  bachelor  re- 
maining. 

Before  midnight  on  that  very  evening  the 
articles  of  association  were  drawn  up  by  the 
flowing  pen  of  George  Edmunds,  and  read  to 
the  assembled  company.  There  was  a  pre- 
amble with  a  formidable  Whereas.  "  Where- 
as we,  the  undersigned  bachelors,  have  this 
day  entered  into  a  solemn  compact  for  the 
mutual  protection  of  our  liberties  against  the 
institution  of  marriage,  etc.,  etc."  Then  fol- 
lowed a  solemn  bond  wherein  The  Matrimo- 
nial Tontine  Mutual  Benefit  Association  of 
New  York  bound  itself,  in  consideration  of 
certain  covenants  and  agreements  of  each 
subscriber,  to  furnish  a  dinner  of  reasonable 
richness  as  to  food,  and  abundance  as  to  drink, 
on  the  first  day  of  each  and  every  year,  and 
to  pay  over  to  the  individual  or  individuals 
who  should  be  most  faithful  to  the  purposes 
of  the  Association  the  total  net  capital  ac- 
cumulated from  the  time  of  the  first  payment 
down  to  the  date  of  the  final  settlement. 

Everybody  signed  that  night,  and  there 
was  much  flamboyant  protestation  on  the  sub- 
ject of  matrimony.  To  judge  merely  from 
the  expressed  views  of  the  subscribers,  it 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  59 

seemed  probable  that  the  pool  would  be  di- 
vided among  the  fifteen  members  at  the  end 
of  the  twenty  years.  The  average  age  of  the 
subscribers  was  twenty-five.  No  one  was 
over  twenty-six  or  under  twenty-four.  Con- 
sequently the  limit  of  twenty  years  appeared 
to  be  a  reasonable  one.  Surely  a  bachelor 
of  forty -five  ought  to  be  able  to  take  care  of 
himself,  and  do  without  the  protection  of  a 
Bachelors'  Union. 

The  subscribers,  having  duly  affixed  their 
signatures  to  the  articles  of  association, 
elected,  as  seemed  fitting,  George  Edmunds 
president,  secretary,  and  treasurer.  It  would 
be  his  duty  to  call  the  members  together  on 
the  occasion  of  the  annual  dinner,  to  note 
and  report  failures  to  pay  the  annual  dues  or 
fallings  from  grace  into  matrimony,  to  exer- 
cise general  supervision  over  the  affairs  of 
the  Association,  and  particular  supervision 
over  the  net  fund.  He  was  given,  by  the  oral 
instructions  of  the  members,  plenary  and  yet 
peculiar  and  sleep-haunting  powers  as  to  the 
management  of  this  fund.  No  gilt-edged 
conventional  investment  returning  regular, 
modest  interest  would  satisfy  the  winner  of 
the  pool.  The  treasurer  would  be  expected 


60         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

to  hit  upon  something  extraordinary  in  its 
dividend-yielding  character.  If  not  another 
potato-peeler,  something  equally  bonanza- 
like  and  gratifying.  And  yet  no  risks  must 
be  run  which  would  hazard  the  integrity  of 
the  principal.  Something  safe  yet  uncon- 
ventional, perfectly  secure  but  splendidly 
lucrative,  would  be  expected  from  him. 
George  would  understand  what  they  meant 
and  act  accordingly,  and  doubtless  the  event- 
ual winner  of  the  pool  would  have  every  rea- 
son to  approve  of  their  selection  of  a  treasurer. 
Whether  it  be  that  much  of  the  talk  this 
evening  was  on  the  surface  and  merely  for 
effect  or  bravado,  or  whether  it  be  that  the 
masculine  heart  may  contain  matrimonial 
germs  without  being  conscious  of  them,  no 
less  than  four  of  the  fifteen  subscribers  ceased 
to  be  members  of  the  Association  after  pay- 
ing but  two  annual  assessments — that  is  to 
say,  they  became  engaged  in  the  course  of 
the  second  year.  A  summer  girl  at  Narra- 
gansett  Pier  caused  the  first  break,  which 
was  the  occasion  of  an  extra  dinner  and  much 
oratory  as  to  the  necessity  of  caution  and 
steadfastness.  Within  the  three  ensuing 
months,  thereby  suggesting  that  the  deserters 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  61 

probably  had  matrimony  in  their  minds  at 
the  time  these  speeches  of  exhortation  were 
being  made,  a  second,  third,  and  fourth  fell 
victims  to  a  widow  with  two  children,  a 
flaxen-haired  doll,  and  a  strong-minded  bru- 
nette, respectively.  So  the  women  in  ques- 
tion were  stigmatized  by  the  remaining  mem- 
bers, who  closed  up  their  serried  ranks  and 
looked  askance  at  one  another.  Who  would 
be  the  next  to  fall?  Who,  indeed!  But 
there  was  always  the  consolation  that  the  in- 
dividual chances  of  the  survivors  to  win  the 
pool  had  been  materially  enhanced.  As  for 
the  pool  itself,  the  treasurer  had  already 
doubled  it  by  a  happy  purchase  of  some 
shares  in  a  gold  mine. 

During  the  next  two  years  there  was  no 
lapse  from  grace,  and  simply  the  death  of 
Tom  Cook  to  chronicle.  Then,  without 
warning,  Harry  Stephenson  came  a  fearful 
cropper,  as  they  say  in  the  hunting-field. 
He  fell  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  a 
very  plain  girl  in  Harlem,  without  a  penny 
to  her  name,  and  married  her.  This  made  a 
frightful  gap,  for  Harry  had  been  one  of  the 
most  inspiring  and  virulent  bachelors  of  the 
Association.  What  was  more,  his  defection 


62         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

seemed  to  knock  the  moral  fortitude  out  of 
William  Hardy,  so  that  when  the  fifth  annu- 
al dinner  came  round,  only  eight  members 
clinked  their  glasses  and  drank  a  standing 
toast  to  the  joys  and  blessings  of  single  life. 
On  the  following  day,  one  of  the  eight  an- 
nounced his  engagement  to  a  chit  of  eigh- 
teen. This  bit  of  perfidy  elicited  from  the 
survivors  a  special  vote  of  censure  which 
accompanied  the  box  of  flowers  sent  by  them 
to  the  victimizer  of  their  late  associate.  The 
only  cheering  bit  of  intelligence  was,  that 
the  treasurer  had  again  done  his  duty.  He 
had  sold  the  shares  of  the  gold  mine  at  a 
magnificent  figure,  and  put  them  into  the 
stock  of  the  Oleo  Refrigerator  Company, 
which  had  immediately  declared  a  cash  divi- 
dend of  fifty  per  cent. 

After  this  there  was  another  lull  of  two 
years  and  a  half.  Then,  at  intervals  of  about 
six  months  apart,  three  more  fell  from  grace, 
leaving  only  George  Edmunds,  Benjamin 
Davis,  Horace  Wilson,  and  Eoger  Partridge 
to  dine  together  on  the  occasion  of  the  tenth 
annual  dinner.  Partridge,  who  was  bald- 
headed  and  looked  like  a  confirmed  old  bach- 
elor of  the  first  water,  was  nevertheless  so 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  63 

melancholy  and  absent-minded  that  the 
president,  secretary,  and  treasurer  called  him 
to  order  and  directed  the  eyes  of  the  Associ- 
tion  upon  him  so  sharply  that  the  poor  fel- 
low blushed  to  where  roots  of  his  hair  had 
been. 

"  You  had  better  confess  and  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,"  said  Ben  Davis. 

"  I've  nothing  to  confess,"  answered  Part- 
ridge, stoutly.  But  he  looked  exceedingly 
doleful,  and  of  a  sudden  he  collapsed  and 
blurted  out,  "  I  offered  myself  to  a  woman 
yesterday  and  she  threw  me  over.  If  that's 
a  reason  for  resigning,  I'll  resign.  I  wish 
somebody  would  blow  my  brains  out." 
Thereupon  he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  the  other 
three  exchanged  sardonic  glances. 

"Does  the  constitution  cover  the  case?" 
asked  Ben  Davis. 

"  No.  The  repentant  sinner  is  received 
back  with  open  arms,"  said  Edmunds. 
"Cheer  up,  Koger.  You've  run  a  frightful 
risk,  but  you  still  have  a  grip  on  the  pool, 
dear  boy.  Only  don't  ask  her  again." 

"She  wouldn't  have  me  if  I  did,"  groaned 
the  culprit. 


64         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  would." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  eagerly 
asked  the  bald-headed  bachelor. 

"  Because  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  they 
do." 

"  Then  you  think  I'd  have  a  chance  ?  " 

"  What's  her  age,  old  fellow,  if  she'll  ex- 
cuse the  question  ?  " 

"  Twenty-nine  next  August." 

"  It's  nearly  a  dead  certainty,"  exclaimed 
Edmunds  and  Davis,  in  the  same  breath. 

"  My  opinion  is  that  if  you  don't  ask  her, 
she'll  ask  you,"  said  Horace  Wilson. 

This  was  a  little  brutal.  Horace,  who 
really  had  a  tender  heart,  felt  it  to  be  so. 
He  put  his  hand  gently  on  Roger's  shoulder. 

"I  say,"  he  exclaimed  a  moment  later, 
"  this  thing  has  gone  far  enough.  Fate  is 
against  the  Association.  I  vote  that  we  dis- 
band." 

"  Disband  ! "  cried  Davis.  "  That  is  a 
monstrous  idea.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

On  the  other  hand,  Edmunds  made  no  such 
demonstration  of  protest.  Indeed,  a  careful 
observer  would  have  noticed  that  a  flicker  of 
satisfaction  passed  across  his  countenance. 
But  all  he  said  was — he  said  it,  though,  a 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  65 

little  nervously — "  "We  four  should  get  about 
fifteen  hundred  apiece.  The  fund  figures  a 
trifle  more  than  six  thousand  on  my  books 
to-day." 

"  Money  or  no  money,"  said  Horace, 
"  we've  carried  it  far  enough.  We  have  vin- 
dicated our  principles ;  we  are  each  of  us 
thirty-five,  and  now  it  seems  to  me  that  any- 
one of  us  ought  to  be  allowed  to  marry  with- 
out loss  of  self-respect." 

"  There  is  certainly  something  in  what  you 
say,"  said  Edmunds,  with  an  appearance  of 
dispassionate  candor. 

Davis  gazed  from  one  to  the  other  in  min- 
gled astonishment  and  indignation.  "  I  nev- 
er heard  such  a  thing,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Dis- 
band just  when  we're  reaching  the  crucial 
point !  It's  the  brassiest  proposition  I  ever 
listened  to.  Even  Roger,  here,  who  would 
get  his  fifteen  hundred  by  it,  looks  as  though 
he  thought  it  the  most  extraordinary  idea 
that  was  ever  broached.  I  see  through  it, 
though,"  he  continued,  defiantly.  "  It's  a 
conspiracy.  You  two  are  either  engaged  or 
in  love,  and  have  put  your  heads  together  to 
play  me  for  an  imbecile.  But  it  won't  work, 
The  Association  can't  disband  without  a 


66         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

unanimous  vote,  and  mine  is  not  to  be  had 
for  love  or  money.  Come  now,  George  Ed- 
munds and  Horace  Wilson,  admit  that  you're 
in  love  and  that  this  is  a  game.  You  can't 
look  me  straight  in  the  eyes,  George.  By 
Jove,  you're  the  most  conscious-looking  con- 
spirator who  was  ever  brought  to  bay." 

Undeniably,  Edmunds,  from  the  moment 
this  accusation  was  uttered,  had  worn  a  flur- 
ried air,  and  now,  when  Davis  seized  him  by 
the  arms  and  tried  to  look  into  his  eyes,  he 
winced  and  avoided  the  searching,  scornful 
scrutiny,  and  turned  pink  and  white.  Even 
his  would-be  nonchalant  words  of  protest  did 
not  clinch  the  matter,  as  his  accuser  was  quick 
to  discover. 

"Engaged?  Nonsense.  I  never  asked  a 
woman  to  marry  me  in  my  life." 

"  But  you're  in  love.     Deny  it  if  you  can." 

"  I  deny  your  right — "  began  George.  "  Er 
— besides  it's  not  true." 

"  I  knew  it,"  cried  Ben,  triumphantly,  and, 
letting  Edmunds  loose,  he  bent  his  gaze  on 
Horace  Wilson.  "  And  here's  another  in  the 
same  fix." 

This  time  there  was  no  wincing  or  shrink- 
ing. The  scornful,  piercing  eyes  encountered 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  67 

a  cool,  steady  return,  and  there  was  the  res» 
onance  of  convincing  truth  in  the  sturdy  re- 

ply: 

"Ben  Davis,  unless  we  disband  to-night, 
you,  barring  my  death,  will  never  touch  one 
dollar  of  that  six  thousand  until  the  end  of 
the  twenty  years,  and  then  you  will  have  to 
divide  it  with  me.  Conspiracy  ?  There  isn't 
a  woman  in  this  world  whom  I  would  cross 
the  street  to  speak  to  a  second  time.  And 
more's  the  pity,  too.  What  I  said  about  dis- 
banding came  from  my  heart.  Heaven  knows 
I'd  like  to  fall  in  love,  but  I  can't.  I've  tried, 
but  it's  no  use.  If  there  ever  was  a  firm-set 
old  bachelor,  I'm  the  man  ;  and  since  you  de- 
cline to  disband,  I  warn  you  to  look  out,  for 
I  intend  to  take  the  pool." 

Thereupon  Horace  folded  his  arms  and 
smiled  with  the  assurance  of  a  man  who  has 
been  many  times  under  fire  and  still  is  heart- 
whole. 

You  will  remember  that  this  occurred  at 
the  tenth  annual  dinner.  Before  the  eleventh 
Roger  Partridge  offered  himself  again  and 
was  accepted.  The  remaining  three  dined 
together  on  the  first  of  January,  and  clinked 
their  glasses  once  more  to  perpetual  bachelor- 
15 


68         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

hood.  Although  George  Edmunds  made  no 
formal  announcement,  his  undisguised  atten- 
tions to  Miss  Virginia  Tebbetts,  and  her  ap- 
parent preference  for  him,  left  little  room  to 
doubt  that  his  membership  in  the  Association 
hung  by  the  gills,  so  to  speak,  and  that  the 
contest  was  to  be  limited  to  the  other  two. 
Indeed,  Ben  Davis  felt  that  the  president, 
secretary,  and  treasurer  was  so  completely 
out  of  the  race  that  he  saw  fit,  in  the  spirit 
of  prudence  which  was  an  attribute  of  his,  to 
throw  out  a  hint  or  two  as  to  the  advisability 
of  conservatism  in  regard  to  the  investment 
of  the  pool.  The  treasurer  had  again  made 
a  notable  financial  stroke  by  selling  out  the 
stock  of  the  "  Oleo  Eefrigerator  Company  " 
at  the  top  of  the  market,  and  buying  the 
shares  of  the  "  Plimsoll  Aeronautic  Concern  " 
at  a  bed-rock  price. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  might  be  well  to  salt 
down  what  we  have  into  a  first-rate  real-estate 
mortgage  ?  "  inquired  Ben. 

George  Edmunds  flushed.  He  was  not 
prone  to  take  offence,  but  he  prided  himself 
on  his  acumen  as  an  investor,  and  this  remark 
seemed  to  him  to  savor  of  rank  ingratitude 
and  to  be  entirely  uncalled  for. 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  69 

"Haven't  I  done  sufficiently  well  foi 
you  ?  "  lie  replied. 

"You  have  done  wonders  —  made  three 
ten-strokes ;  but — but  I  think  you  will  admit 
that  there  was  a  certain  element  of  risk  in 
each  one  of  the — er — investments." 

"  They  succeeded,"  said  George,  coldly. 

"  Besides,  the  treasurer  was  directed  to  be 
brilliant,"  interjected  Horace.  "  There  is  no 
scope  for  brilliancy  in  a  first-rate  real-estate 
mortgage." 

"  That  was  at  first,  when  we  had  a  mere 
pittance  in  the  treasury.  We  have  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  now.  Ten  thousand  dollars 
does  not  grow  on  every  bush,  but  it  may  be 
lost  in  a  twinkling.  What  if  the  flying-ma- 
chine does  not  work?  Where  will  our  money 
be?" 

Undoubtedly  George  Edmunds  laid  up  this 
criticism  against  Ben  so  far  as  a  kind-hearted 
and  malice-hating  fellow  could  lay  up  any- 
thing against  anybody.  This,  too,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  stock  of  the  "Plimsoll 
Aeronautic  Concern  "  rose  rapidly  during  the 
next  four  months,  demonstrating  clearly 
thereby  the  superior  sagacity  of  the  treas- 
urer of  the  Matrimonial  Tontine  Mutual 


TO         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

Benefit  Association.  At  a  special  meeting 
of  the  members,  held  on  the  first  day  of  May, 
this  self-same  treasurer  announced,  with  the 
apologetic  reprehension  of  self  which  the  fall 
of  the  chief  and  sole  official  of  the  Associa- 
tion seemed  to  demand,  his  engagement  to 
Miss  Virginia  Tebbetts. 

"  I  have  called  a  special  meeting,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  for  the  reason  that,  as  I  have  ceased 
to  be  a  member,  a  new  custodian  of  the  as- 
sets of  the  Association  should  be  elected 
forthwith.  The  only  present  asset  is  this 
certificate  for  one  thousand  shares  of  the 
stock  of  the  'Plimsoll  Aeronautic  Concern/ 
which  I  take  pleasure  in  informing  you  could 
be  sold  to-day  for  twelve  thousand  five  hun- 
dred dollars." 

Thereupon,  with  a  glance  of  legitimate  tri- 
umph at  Ben  Davis,  he  laid  the  valuable 
piece  of  parchment  on  the  table,  together 
with  the  records  of  the  Association,  and 
presently  left  the  two  survivors  to  their  own 
devices. 

On  the  following  morning,  before  a  single 
quotation  was  uttered  in  Wall  Street,  Ben 
Davis  entered  a  broker's  office  with  the  piece 
of  parchment  in  question,  duly  endorsed  by 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  71 

him  as  president,  secretary,  and  treasurer  of 
the  Association. 

"  Sell  this  at  the  market,"  he  said,  care* 
lessly.  But  though  he  looked  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber, there  was  fever  in  his  soul,  and  he 
hung  about  the  office  until  the  operation  was 
completed.  The  stock  was  sold  for  $12,500, 
and  the  following  week  it  fell  $5  a  share  in 
as  many  minutes,  and  within  a  fortnight  the 
certificates  were  worth  merely  what  old  pa- 
per is  worth.  But  long  before  that  dismal 
day  the  funds  of  the  Matrimonial  Tontine 
Mutual  Benefit  Association  were  safely  in- 
vested in  a  gilt-edged  mortgage  on  improved 
real  estate. 

And  so,  as  was  stated  in  the  first  place, 
the  Association  was  reduced  to  two  members, 
a  condition  of  affairs  which  had  existed  now 
for  three  calendar  years.  The  fourteenth  an- 
nual dinner  had  recently  been  eaten,  and  Ben 
Davis  and  Horace  Wilson  had  clinked  glasses 
to  the  joys  of  single  life  with  the  same  gusto, 
so  far  as  either  could  discern  by  close  scru- 
tiny of  the  other,  displayed  by  them  on  the 
very  first  occasion.  Beyond  the  fact  that 
George  Edmunds  had  been  married  and  was 
the  father  of  a  boy  baby,  and  the  funds  of 


72          THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

the  Association  were  yielding  a  safe  but 
modest  four  and  one-half  per  cent.,  matters 
seemed  just  the  same.  But  they  were  not. 

One  winter's  evening,  about  six  weeks  sub- 
sequent to  the  fourteenth  annual  dinner,  Ben 
Davis  sat  before  the  fire  in  his  comfortable 
bachelor  rooms,  with  a  pensive  expression  of 
countenance.  Time  had  dealt  kindly  with 
Ben.  He  had  some  hair  left,  a  moderately 
youthful  face  and  figure,  and  a  prosperous 
business.  People  and  corporations  who 
were  pressed  for  money  came  to  him  to  re- 
lieve their  necessities,  and  he  was  very  apt 
to  be  able  to  relieve  them.  When  he  did  so, 
he  retained  a  small  slice  ;  such  is  the  way  of 
the  world  ;  and  it  does  not  take  a  very  great 
many  slices  to  make  a  respectable  family 
loaf.  But  Ben  had  no  family.  He  kept  a 
cob,  and  he  went  to  Europe  for  six  weeks  in 
summer,  provided  the  money  market  was  not 
too  tight.  In  the  event  of  financial  strin- 
gency he  ran  down  to  Bar  Harbor  for  a  fort- 
night or  so.  Money  had  been  at  a  premium 
the  previous  summer,  and  he  had  been  able 
to  get  away  only  for  ten  days,  and  to  get 
only  as  far  as  Narragansett  Pier.  But  those 
ten  days  had  been  detrimental  to  his  peace 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  73 

of  mind  ever  since.  He  had  seen  her  in  the 
water  the  first  time,  and  he  could  not  forget 
her. 

She  did  not  live  in  New  York ;  but  such 
are  the  opportunities  of  a  note  broker  that 
one  can  run  over  to  Philadelphia  on  business 
without  seeming  to  go  out  of  one's  way  to 
call  on  a  girl.  Ben  had  made  the  trip  five 
times  since  the  first  of  October,  and  it  was 
not  yet  March,  and  he  had  fairly  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  single  life  was  a  failure. 
What  he  was  saying  to  himself  this  evening 
was  that  on  Easter  he  would  send  her  a  lily, 
and  go  over  the  following  week  and  ask  her 
to  become  his.  In  the  event  that  she  ac- 
cepted him,  Horace  Wilson,  of  course,  would 
get  the  money.  This  was  not  exactly  a  pleas- 
ant thought  for  Ben ;  but  so  far  as  he  could 
see,  there  would  be  no  escape  from  it.  Some- 
how he  had  come  to  regard  the  pool  as  his, 
and  the  idea  of  losing  it  entirely  was  galling. 
Not  that  he  needed  the  money ;  for  he  was 
doing  remarkably  well.  Indeed,  the  sum 
would  make  a  much  greater  difference  to 
Horace  Wilson  than  to  him,  for  Horace, 
though  [described  in  common  parlance  as  a 
rising  landscape  gardener,  had  only  half  his 


74         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

income.  It  would  certainly  be  unpleasant, 
though,  to  be  obliged  to  take  the  little  trunk 
out  from  the  safe  and  hand  it  over  to  Horace. 
The  gilt-edged  mortgage  on  improved  real 
estate  seemed  to  him  to  belong  just  where  it 
was,  and  the  prospect  of  parting  with  it  was 
very  distasteful  to  him.  Was  there  no  means 
by  which  he  could  win  her  and  the  pool  both  ? 

None  presented  itself  that  evening,  but  on 
the  following  morning,  which  was  Sunday,  he 
stumbled  upon  something  just  a  little  prom- 
ising. Up  to  this  time  during  the  last  five 
years  he  had  never  seen  Horace  Wilson  in 
the  society  of  any  woman.  Though  the  city 
was  large,  to  be  sure,  and  they  did  not  meet 
altogether  the  same  people,  Ben  flattered 
himself  that  he  kept  a  pretty  close  eye  on 
Horace.  And  yet  the  painful  consciousness 
was  his  that  never  had  he  run  across  his  rival 
in  what  might  be  called  a  compromising  situ- 
ation. Had  he  detected  him  even  at  a  thea- 
tre-party, he  would  have  felt  encouraged,  but 
though  he  had  often  beheld  Horace  comforta- 
bly ensconced  in  an  orchestra  stall,  there  had 
never  been  a  female  companion  beside  him. 

On  this  Sunday  morning,  however,  as  Ben 
was  taking  an  airing,  chance  led  him  along 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  75 

the  particular  cross  street  in  which  George 
Edmunds  had  established  his  household 
gods.  The  churches  were  just  out,  and 
though  it  was  a  cross  street,  there  was  a 
sprinkling  of  people  on  either  sidewalk.  Ben 
was  thinking  of  her,  and  consequently  did 
not  pay  his  customary  heed  to  the  passers. 
There  was  only  one  woman  in  the  world  for 
him,  and  as  for  the  men,  they  interested  him 
not  at  all,  provided  the  single  ones  stayed 
away  from  Philadelphia.  There  was  just 
one  man  he  would  except  from  the  general 
scope  of  his  indifference,  and  he  was  Horace 
Wilson.  Why  the  dickens  didn't  that  fellow 
get  married  ?  It  was  high  time.  Happening 
to  look  across  the  street  as  this  thought  for- 
mulated itself  in  his  mind,  his  heart  gave  a 
jump.  In  the  vestibule  of  George  Edmunds's 
house  stood  four  people,  who  were  on  the  point 
of  entering.  Indeed,  before  he  had  fully  com- 
prehended the  situation,  they  had  gone  in  and 
shut  the  door.  But  in  three  of  them  Ben  had 
recognized  George  and  his  wife  and  Horace 
Wilson.  As  to  the  fourth,  who  had  been 
slightly  in  advance  of  the  others,  and  conse- 
quently partially  concealed,  he  had  detected 
by  the  feathers  on  her  bonnet  that  she  was  a 


76         THE  MATRIMONIAL   TONTINE 

woman,  and  a  passably  young  woman  at  that. 
Ben,  being  a  note  broker,  was  quick  at  com- 
putation. He  instantly  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether and  said  to  himself  that  Horace  had 
been  escorting  the  unknown  in  question  home 
from  church.  A  ray  of  hope  lit  up  his  late 
gloomy  reflections  regarding  the  gilt-edged 
mortgage.  If  Horace  were  to  become  en- 
gaged before  he  did,  the  pool  would  be  his. 
After  glancing  up  at  the  house  opposite  in 
the  hope  of  detecting  the  mysterious  stranger 
at  the  window,  he  went  on  his  way  with  a 
more  elastic  step.  If  he  won  the  pool,  could 
he  not  afford  to  give  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  the  superb  diamonds  which  he  had  ex- 
amined at  a  jeweller's  the  week  before  ?  He 
would  be  cautious  and  delay  a  little,  and 
a,wait  developments. 

On  the  very  next  evening  Ben  happened  to 
run  across  George  Edmunds  at  the  club,  and 
immediately  asked  him  the  question  upper- 
most in  his  mind :  "  Who  was  the  lady 
walking  home  with  you  from  church  yester- 
day?" 

The  inquiry  was  made  in  the  most  inno- 
cent, off-hand  manner,  but  obviously  George 
was  prepared  for  it.  Be  it  for  the  reason 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  77 

that  he  had  never  forgiven  Ben  for  charging 
him  with  being  in  love  before  he  knew  it 
himself,  or  for  impugning  his  financial  judg- 
ment, George  had  taken  sides.  He  was  par- 
ticularly desirous  that  Horace  Wilson  should 
win  the  pool,  and  consequently  was  on  his 
guard. 

He  answered,  diplomatically,  "My  wife's 
mother  is  staying  with  us  for  a  few  days." 

"I  congratulate  you,  George.  It  wasn't 
your  wife's  mother  with  you  yesterday,  how- 
ever. The  lady  Horace  Wilson  escorted  to 
your  house  was  no  one's  mother.  Is  he  at- 
tentive to  her  ?  " 

"Spying,  eh?"  said  George.  "No,  he 
isn't." 

"  Wliat's  her  name  ?  " 

George  hesitated.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
telling  and  then,  for  no  particular  reason, 
thought  better  of  it. 

"  It  will  never  be  Wilson,"  he  replied. 

George  Edmunds  returned  to  the  bosom 
of  his  family  that  night  in  an  anxious  frame 
of  mind.  He  and  his  wife,  the  late  Virginia 
Tebbetts,  were  already  at  war  in  regard  to 
the  relations  between  Horace  Wilson  and 
their  guest,  Miss  Florence  Delaney,  and  his 


78         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINK 

interview  with  Ben  Davis  had  made  him 
still  more  solicitous  that  his  better  half 
should  do  nothing  further  to  promote  the 
affair. 

"  It  will  be  the  same  as  robbing  Horace  of 
a  good  thirteen  thousand  dollars,"  said  he  to 
his  spouse.  "  You  should  have  seen  the  tri- 
umphant, avaricious  gleam  in  Ben's  eyes 
when  he  told  me  that  he  had  detected  him. 
Just  leave  the  man  alone,  Virginia.  Pro- 
vided you  let  him  go  his  own  gait,  I  feel  sure 
that  his  natural  antipathy  to  your  sex  will 
lead  him  out  of  temptation.  But  if  you  keep 
egging  him  on,  the  next  thing  we  shall  hear 
is  that  he  is  engaged." 

"  I  devoutly  hope  so,  dear.  I  have  made 
the  discovery  that  Horace  Wilson  is  one  of 
those  men  whose  matrimonial  sweetness  has 
been  wasted  on  the  desert  air  of  a  club  long 
enough.  He  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  be  a 
husband  and  father,  but  the  girls  in  the 
world  who  would  suit  him  are  abnormally 
scarce.  Dear  Florence  happens  to  be  one  of 
them.  He  may  never  meet  another ;  and  so 
the  sooner  they  are  engaged  the  better." 

"Then  let  him  find  it  out  for  himself 
Don't  prod  him  into  it." 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  79 

"  No,  dear ;  a  bachelor  of  his  age  needs  to 
be  prodded  now  and  then  in  order  to  realize 
what  is  best  for  him.  So  great  is  the  sexual 
shyness  which  a  wicked  association  such  as 
yours  engenders,  that  a  woman  has  to  give 
very  clear  signs  that  she  is  pleased,  or  the 
man  will  run  back  into  his  lair  again  and 
fancy  himself  jilted.  Don't  you  remember 
how  I  had  virtually  to  offer  myself  to  you 
before  you  came  to  the  point  ?  " 

"  But  no  third  person  dragged  me  up  to 
the  halter." 

"No;  because  you  see,  George,  I  really 
liked  you  almost  as  much  as  you  did  me. 
But  the  trouble  here  is  that  Florence  doesn't 
know  her  own  mind.  It  seems  there's  an- 
other." 

"  Thank  goodness." 

"  Ah,  George,  don't  talk  like  that.  Poor 
Horace  is  just  crazy  about  her.  He  thinks 
of  nothing  else.  And  he  needs  encourage- 
ment so  badly.  Only  this  afternoon  he  said 
to  me,  '  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use.  I'll  give  it 
up  and  go  in  for  the  pool.  She  doesn't  care 
for  me  more  than  for  the  button  on  one  of 
her  boots.'  Oh,  it  was  pitiful,  George  ! " 

"Who  is  this  another?  " 


80         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

"  That's  the  difficulty.  I  don't  even  know 
definitely  that  there  is  another.  But  I  feel 
morally  sure  that  there  is.  Otherwise  she 
would  accept  Horace.  It's  harassing,  for 
they  are  just  made  for  each  other.  I  warn 
you,  George,  that  I  am  going  to  do  everything 
that  I  can  to  bring  them  together.  I  shall 
invite  her  frequently  to  stay,  and  I  shall  go 
where  she  goes  this  summer.  It  was  you  who 
were  responsible  for  this  hateful  Association, 
and  I  feel  a  moral  obligation  to  save  Horace 
Wilson  while  there  is  yet  time." 

"  The  time  to  save  him,  as  you  call  it,  will 
be  after  he  has  pocketed  the  thirteen  thou- 
sand dollars,"  said  George. 

Mrs.  Edmunds  was  a  determined  woman. 
Her  words  were  no  idle  sputterings  to  be  for- 
gotten as  soon  as  spoken.  She  was  resolved 
to  keep  the  possibility  that  he  might  be 
accepted  constantly  before  the  mind  of 
Horace  Wilson,  and  with  feminine,  feline  in- 
stinct she  reached  out  for  Ben  Davis  as  an 
ally.  She  happened  to  meet  him  at  Tiffany's 
some  fortnight  later.  He  had  gone  in  to 
have  another  look  at  the  diamonds,  and  he 
was  reflecting  that  the  pool  would  enable 
him  to  satisfy  admirably  his  impulse  to  do 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  81 

the  handsome  thing  by  her  who  was  to  be 
his,  when  he  looked  up  and  beheld  Mrs.  Ed- 
munds watching  him.  He  bit  his  tongue  in 
vain  to  keep  from  blushing.  He  realized  that 
he  had  been  caught  in  a  very  compromis- 
ing situation.  Yet  to  his  relief  his  observer 
did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  On  the  contrary 
she  said :  "  If  you  have  a  spare  moment, 
Mr.  Davis,  I  wish  to  have  a  few  words  with 
you  in  regard  to  our  mutual  friend,  Mr. 
Wilson.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  he  is 
in.  love." 

"  I  had  guessed  as  much." 

"  Then  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Not  well.  I  have  seen  her."  It  would 
have  been  more  accurate  to  say  that  he  had 
seen  the  tip  of  her  bonnet.  But  Ben  was  a 
diplomat  by  instinct. 

"  She  is  a  charming  creature.  Just  the 
woman  for  him.  He  really  ought  to  be  mar- 
ried. And  all  he  needs  is  encouragement — 
to  be  egged  on.  Can  I  count  on  you,  Mr. 
Davis,  now  and  then  to  do  a  little  egging  ?  " 

The  late  Virginia  Tebbetts  spoke  with  all 
the  engaging  sweetness  at  her  command,  and 
conscious  that  she  had  said  all  that  was 
necessary  to  enlist  him  on  her  side,  pro- 


82         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINB 

vided  lie  were  willing  to  yield  to  the  tempta- 
tion, she  glided  away  and  left  Ben  to  his 
own  cogitations. 

The  result  of  this  interview  was  twofold. 
It  strengthened  Ben's  resolution  to  be  cau- 
tious and  make  haste  slowly  in  the  matter  of 
committing  himself  toward  his  intended,  and 
it  gave  him  an  excuse  for  opening  fire  on 
Horace.  As  Mrs.  Edmunds  had  said,  Horace 
really  ought  to  be  married.  A  word  or  two 
of  encouragement  from  him  might  cement 
matters  and  bring  about  his  friend's  everlast- 
ing happiness.  The  game  was  perfectly  fair, 
for  Horace  knew  well  enough  that  the  man 
who  was  engaged  first  would  lose  the  pool. 

The  opportunity  came  the  following  week. 
Ben  was  returning  from  Philadelphia,  where 
he  had  been  to  call  on  his  Dulcinea,  and  he 
ran  across  Horace  in  the  train.  They  had 
the  smoking-compartment  all  to  themselves, 
so  Ben  opened  fire  at  once. 

"I've  come  to  the  conclusion,  old  man," 
he  said,  "  that  there's  no  happiness  like  mar- 
ried happiness.  I  rather  expect  to  be  mar- 
ried myself  some  day."  This  admission 
seemed  to  Ben  to  be  magnanimous,  and  he 
proceeded  to  add,  without  a  qualm,  "A  little 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  83 

bird  has  told  me  that  you  have  only  to  ask  in 
ft  certain  quarter  to  be  accepted." 

"And  leave  you  to  gather  in  the  pool?" 
replied  Horace,  promptly.  "  Springes  to 
catch  woodcocks,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  win  the  pool,"  said  Ben, 
slowly.  "  But  what  is  a  pool  compared 
with  true  love  ?  You  may  lose  her,  man, 
if  you  let  mercenary  considerations  move 
you." 

Horace  made  no  verbal  response.  He 
merely  sighed  —  sighed  deeply.  Ben,  who 
was  a  diplomat,  respected  this  display  of 
emotion  by  silence.  He  bided  his  time  and 
said,  presently,  "  I  understand  that  she  is 
very  charming." 

"She  is  an  angel,"  said  Horace.  "But 
I'm  not  worthy  of  her,  in  the  first  place,  and 
in  the  second,  she  doesn't  care  for  me." 

"How  can  you  tell  until  you  ask  her?" 
murmured  Ben ;  though,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  reminded  himself  of  the  murderer  of 
Gonzago,  pouring  the  poison  into  his  vic- 
tim's ear  in  the  play  of  one  William  Shake- 
speare. 

Horace  sighed  again,  more  pensively  and 
less  hopelessly  than  before.  Just  then  the 
16 


84         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

train  stopped  at  a  way  station  and  Ben  took 
advantage  of  the  five  minutes'  intermission  to 
telegraph  to  the  florist  at  Philadelphia  : 

"  Delay  lily." 

He  had  given  orders  that  morning  to  have 
one  sent  to  her  on  Easter  Sunday,  which  was 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  but  it  seemed  to 
him,  in  view  of  the  entire  situation,  that  he 
had  better  suspend  active  operations  until 
he  should  ascertain  whether  Horace's  cam- 
paign was  likely  to  be  long  or  short.  The 
girl  might  be  one  of  the  kind  who  would  re- 
fuse Horace  the  first  time  ;  in  which  case 
there  would  be  a  fearful  relapse,  and  months 
might  pass  before  the  sick  man  could  be 
egged  on  to  a  second  trial. 

The  spring  slipped  away,  and  so  did  the 
summer  and  autumn,  and  presently  the 
ground  was  covered  with  snow,  and  Christ- 
mas-wreaths were  in  the  windows.  On  the 
evening  of  the  twenty-fourth,  or  Christmas- 
eve  as  we  call  it,  the  mercury  was  only  five 
degrees  above  zero;  it  was  snowing,  and 
those  who  had  put  off  buying  their  Christmas 
presents  until  the  last  minute  found  Jack 
Frost  a  too  attentive  companion.  Ben  Da- 
vis was  not  among  them.  He  was  sitting  in 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  85 

his  pleasant  bachelor's  rooms,  comfortably 
established  before  a  glorious  fire.  He  had 
bought  all  his  Christinas  presents,  and  he 
had  even  hung  up  his  own  stocking,  but  he 
was  not  thinking  of  Christmas  at  the  moment. 
Once  or  twice  he  rubbed  his  hands  pleasant- 
ly together,  as  though  he  were  gratified  at 
his  ovvrn  reflections.  And  indeed  they  were 
satisfactory  from  his  point  of  view.  Only 
the  clay  before  yesterday  he  had  had  a  most 
interesting  interview  with  his  ally  and  fellow- 
conspirator,  Mrs.  George  Edmunds,  who  had 
complimented  him  on  his  egging  capabili- 
ties, and  whose  final  words  had  been,  "  She 
is  coming  to  stay  with  us  to-morrow,  and  I 
shall  be  egregiously  surprised  if  he  doesn't 
ask  her  and  if  she  doesn't  accept  him.  It  ia 
practically  an  accomplished  fact." 

An  accomplished  fact !  With  Horace  Wil- 
son engaged  and  out  of  the  way,  the  pool 
would  be  his  and  he  would  be  free  to  be  as 
devoted  as  he  pleased  to  the  charmer  in 
Philadelphia.  Another  Christmas-eve  should 
not  find  him  a  lonely  bachelor,  but  a  happy 
Benedict,  with  the  sweetest  wife  in  the  world. 
He  had  waited  the  longest,  but  he  had  won 
both  the  pool  and  the  most  charming  of  her 


86         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

sex.  And  after  all,  was  lie  not  the  one  en- 
titled to  the  pool?  But  for  his  prudence 
and  prompt  action  in  the  nick  of  time,  there 
would  have  been  no  pool  left.  It  would  have 
gone  where  the  rest  of  the  funds  in  the 
"Plimsoll  Aeronautic  Concern"  had  gone. 
Instead,  it  was  invested  in  a  gilt-edged  mort- 
gage on  improved  real  estate.  Prudence ! 
Caution!  These  had  been  the  watchwords 
of  his  career.  They  had  served  him  well  in 
business,  and  now  they  were  to  serve  him 
well  in  love.  If  only  Horace  Wilson  an- 
nounced his  engagement  on  Christmas-day, 
he  would  offer  himself  on  the  first  of  Jan- 
uary, and  she  should  have  the  diamonds. 
He  rubbed  his  hands  again  at  the  thought, 
then  started,  for  someone  had  knocked.  It 
was  ten  o'clock.  Who  could  be  the  caller 
on  so  cold  and  stormy  anight?  "  Come  in," 
he  cried,  and  in  walked  the  gentleman  of 
whom  he  had  been  thinking,  well  done  up 
in  a  heavy  coat  which  was  plentifully  be- 
sprinkled with  snow. 

"I  wish  you  merry  Christmas,  Horace. 
You  look  like  Santa  Claus  himself." 

"  I  am  Santa  Claus.  By  your  leave,  Ben, 
I've  come  for  a  cigar  and  a  nightcap.  Ah ! " 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  87 

he  added  as  he  approached  the  hearth,  "  I 
see  you  have  hung  your  stocking  up." 

"  Yes.  I  always  do  that.  Some  years  I 
wake  up  and  find  it  empty.  But  it  reminds 
me  of  old  times  to  see  it  there." 

"  Well,  you  won't  find  it  empty  to-morrow 
morning.  I've  come  to  fill  it." 

"  Brought  me  a  present,  eh  ?  "  Ben's  pulses 
bounded  joyfully,  but  his  habitual  caution 
bade  him  speak  decorously. 

"  A  good  many  men  would  be  very  glad  to 
find  what  you  will  find  in  your  stocking. 
But  very  likely  you  won't  care  much.  Ben, 
I'm  engaged.  I  dare  say  you  can  afford  to 
congratulate  me." 

Congratulate  him  ?  It  was  a  little  awk- 
ward to  have  to  jump  up  and  nearly  wring  a 
man's  hand  off  when  you  had  just  come  into 
a  neat  $13,500  as  the  result  of  his  action. 
Nevertheless,  Ben  did  it  with  consummate 
tact  and  all  the  semblance  of  sincerity. 
Glad  ?  Of  course  he  was  glad  ;  simply  radi- 
ant. There  was  no  need  to  pretend.  He 
shook  Horace  by  the  hand  again  and  again, 
and  they  both  laughed  until  they  nearly 
cried. 

"  You  have  won  the  pool,  old  boy,  and  I 


88         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

don't  care  a  straw.  I'm  the  luckiest  fellow 
in  the  world.  She's  a  perfect  darling." 

"  I'm  sure  she  is.  I  wish  you  no  end  of 
happiness,  Horace." 

"  Do  you  know  her,  Ben  ?  " 

"  No,  I  caught  just  a  glimpse  of  her  once 
on  George  Edmunds's  door-steps.  Merely 
the  tip  of  her  bonnet.  I  suspected  you, 
though,  from  that  minute." 

"  Did  you,  really  ?  George  has  been  aw- 
fully kind ;  that  is,  confound  him,  I  mean 
infernally  disagreeable.  He  did  not  want 
me  to  lose  the  pool,  and  so  he  tried  to  make 
out  that  it  would  be  time  enough  to  think  of 
marrying  when  the  twenty  years  ran  out. 
But  his  wife,  heaven  bless  her,  and  you,  Ben, 
kept  my  spirits  up.  If  it  wasn't  one  at  me 
it  was  the  other,  until  finally  I  took  heart 
and  asked  her.  You  were  gunning  for  the 
pool,  of  course,  Ben.  I  saw  that.  But  you 
helped  me  all  the  same,  and,  thanks  to  you 
and  Virginia  Edmunds,  I've  something  to 
live  for  now.  You  don't  know,  Ben,  what  an 
insignificant  thing  money  seems  to  me  to- 
night. Get  married — get  married,  Ben,  as 
soon  as  you  can." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  some  day,"  he  answered, 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  89 

significantly,  moved  by  Horace's  enthusiasm, 
for  it  was  no  longer  necessary  to  be  cautious. 
"  I  shall  have  to  drink  to  bachelorhood  alone 
this  year ;  but  between  you  and  me,  Horace, 
I  hope  for  better  things  some  day." 

"  Don't  put  it  off,  Ben.  If  you  only  knew 
-—but  you  don't.  I  won't  bore  you.  George 
says  I'm  as  obnoxious  to  the  nerves  as  a 
Fourth  of  July  celebration." 

"  I  don't  even  know  her  name." 

"  Florence.  Do  you  remember  the  day 
we  met  on  the  train  coming  from  Philadel- 
phia ?  I  had  just  been  to  see  her.  Florence 
Delaney." 

Ben  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
"  It  is  a  pretty  name,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  And  she  is  an  adorable  woman." 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  didn't  know  her." 

"  I  was  mistaken.  I  find  I  do.  You  are 
indeed  the  luckiest  man  in  the  world." 

Horace  glanced  at  him  narrowly,  struck  by 
his  grave  tone  and  by  the  quietness  of  his 
demeanor.  "  Poor  fellow,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  He  must  be  thinking  what  an  infer- 
nally dull  thing  it  is  to  be  an  old  bachelor. 
I  won't  remind  him  of  it  any  longer." 


90         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

Horace  remained  until  he  had  finished  his 
cigar.  After  he  had  gone  Ben  sat  for  a  long 
time  with  his  face  in  his  hands  and  his  head 
on  the  table.  To  think  that  he  had  never 
recognized  her  on  George  Edmunds's  steps 
that  Sunday  morning.  He  called  to  mind 
Horace's  speech  urging  him  not  to  put  off 
being  married,  and  he  laughed  at  his  own 
discomfiture,  though  there  were  real  tears  in 
his  eyes.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  was 
doomed  to  be  an  old  bachelor  to  the  end  of 
his  days.  Christmas-eve  after  Christmas- 
eve  would  find  him  just  like  this.  What  a 
fool  he  had  been.  Prudence  !  Caution  ! 
They  had  served  him  well,  indeed,  in  the 
matter  of  love.  He  seemed  to  see  them  be- 
fore his  mind's  sight  in  mocking  letters  of 
fire.  He  had  won  the  pool ;  but  what  was 
the  pool  now?  Poor,  pitiful  schemer  that 
he  had  been ;  he  had  thrown  away  the  chance 
of  his  life. 

He  walked  his  room  long  that  night,  and 
when  he  went  to  bed  it  was  not  to  sleep. 
The  sun  rose  on  a  city  mantled  in  snow. 
It  was  Christmas-day,  but  Ben  felt  that  he 
belonged  nowhere  except  at  his  club.  He 
dined  there  alone,  and  after  dinner  he  went 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  91 

into  the  writing-room  and  wrote.  Merely  a 
few  lines  ;  but  when  he  had  finished  them  he 
felt  better.  On  the  following  morning  he 
rose  early,  for  he  had  a  present  to  buy  on 
his  way  down  town.  He  was  at  Tiffany's  so 
promptly  that  the  attendants  were  still  rub- 
bing the  aftermath  of  Merry  Christmas  from 
their  eyes  when  he  entered.  "Let  this  be 
delivered  as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  a  Christ- 
mas present  I  had  neglected  to  buy,"  he  said 
to  the  salesman  from  whom  he  made  his  pur- 
chase. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  Horace  Wilson 
and  his  ladylove  were  sitting  on  the  sofa  in 
Mrs.  George  Edmunds's  drawing-room,  when 
the  maid  entered  with  a  tolerably  large  par- 
cel which  she  delivered  to  Miss  Delaney. 
Notwithstanding  that  Miss  Delaney  was  very 
comfortable  where  she  was,  she  forsook  the 
sofa  in  order  to  examine  her  belated  Christ- 
mas present. 

"  I  wonder  whom  it  can  be  from,  Horace," 
she  murmured,  feverishly,  as  young  ladies 
will  under  such  circumstances.  But  before 
she  undid  the  parcel  she  stopped  to  read  the 
note  which  accompanied  it. 

"  How  very  kind  of  him  ! "  she  said,  when 


92         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TONTINE 

she  had  finished.  She  looked  just  a  little 
queer,  too.  "  It's  from  Mr.  Benjamin  Davis." 
And  she  held  out  the  note. 

"  Ben  Davis  ?  I  didn't  know  you  knew  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear,  very  well  indeed.  In 
fact — "  but  here  Miss  Delaney  stopped  and 
gave  a  little  laugh,  and  began  busily  to  undo 
the  parcel. 

"  In  fact  what  ?  "  asked  Horace. 

"Nothing."  Then  she  gave  a  sudden 
scream  of  transport.  "  Look,  Horace,  look. 
"Why,  they  are  diamonds  —  real  diamonds. 
Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  superb  ?  " 

Horace  whistled  with  astonishment.  "  Dia- 
monds ?  I  should  think  they  were !  " 

But  a  flush  of  disquietude  presently  suc- 
ceeded the  expression  of  delight  on  Miss  De- 
laney's  face,  and  she  looked  up  at  her  lover 
appealingly.  "  I  really  don't  see  why  he 
sent  me  such  a  present.  They  are  lovely, 
but  I  don't  think  I  like  it." 

"You  mustn't  feel  annoyed,  dearest," 
answered  Horace,  mysteriously.  "Ben  has 
tried  to  do  the  handsome  thing,  and  he  has 
done  it." 

"  May  I  really  keep  them,  Horace  ?  "  she 
asked,  almost  supplicatingly. 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  93 

"  Certainly,  dear.  Ben  has  sent  them  on 
my  account,  and  he  has  acted  very  gener- 
ously. I  have  a  little  confession  to  make,  if 
you  will  listen.  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
before,  but  I  haven't  had  time  since  yester- 
day. Ben  and  I  have  been  members  of  a 
club  called  the  Matrimonial  Tontine  Mutual 
Benefit  Association."  Thereupon  Horace 
told  her  the  whole  story — at  least  he  thought 
he  had.  "So  you  see,"  he  said  in  conclu- 
sion, "  Ben,  the  dear  old  fellow,  has  taken  it 
into  his  head  to  do  the  handsome  thing.  He 
has  practically  shared  the  pool  with  me." 

"  I  see,"  said  Florence  Delaney,  quietly, 
but  she  shook  her  head  with  a  little  sigh  and 
looked  queerer  than  before.  Horace,  how- 
ever, did  not  observe  these  signs  of  distrust 
in  his  deductions,  for  he  was  engaged  in 
reading  Ben  Davis's  letter,  which,  by  the 
way,  was  the  most  commonplace  of  epistles. 

"  Dear  Miss  Delaney,"  it  ran.  "  Will  you 
do  me  the  favor  to  accept  these  jewels  with 
my  sincerest  wishes  for  your  future  happi- 
ness? Wishing  you  a  merry  Christmas,  I 
am  yours  very  sincerely,  Benjamin  Davis." 

It  was  natural,  in  view  of  his  understand- 
ing of  the  matter,  that  the  gift  of  the  dia- 


94         THE  MATRIMONIAL  TON  TINS 

monds  should  not  be  concealed  by  Horace 
from  George  Edmunds  and  his  wife.  It 
happened  later  in  the  day,  when  Horace  was 
showing  them  to  Mrs.  George,  that  she  re- 
marked, casually,  "  Now  that  it  is  all  settled, 
Horace,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  was 
very  much  concerned  at  one  time  lest  Flor- 
ence would  accept  Ben  Davis." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  our 
hero,  very  nearly  letting  fall  the  precious 
stones  in  his  agitation. 

"  Why,  he  was  the  '  another '  of  whom  I 
was  so  much  afraid,  though  I  didn't  let  you 
see  I  was.  I  didn't  know  myself  that  he 
was  Mr.  Davis  until  a  few  weeks  ago,  and 
when  I  realized  that  I  had  induced  him  to 
egg  you  on  to  offer  yourself  to  his  own  sweet- 
heart, I  felt  like  a  guilty  wretch.  But  it  was 
too  late  to  draw  back  then.  Why,  Horace, 
how  strange  you  look  !  I  took  it  for  granted 
that  Florence  had  told  you  all  about  it." 

"  You  have  merely  added  just  a  few  paltry 
details  which  make  me  inclined  to  be  sorry 
that  I  let  Florence  keep  those  diamonds," 
said  Horace,  grimly. 

"  Ah,  you  won't  be  so  cruel  as  to  take  them 
away  now  after  telling  her  she  could  keep 


BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  95 

them  ?  Besides  it  would  hurt  Mr.  Davis's 
feelings.  He  has  really  been  very  gener- 
ous." 

"  Confound  him,  yes.  I  suppose  you  are 
right,  though.  Poor  fellow,  how  I  pity  him ! 
I  can  certainly  afford  to  be  a  little  generous 
too." 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


PS1762.B3  1902 


§2106  00206  9364 


